


Wake Up and Smell the Roses

by noxis (c4d3llin)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brutal Murder, Crossdressing, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Jaskier's first time, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Smut, Song: Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher), Supportive Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Unrequited Love, graphic murder in chapter 5, jaskier in stockings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c4d3llin/pseuds/noxis
Summary: Things go wrong when Geralt's date (and also the bait for their contract), Yennefer falls ill. The sorceress names their only other travelling companion, Jaskier, her substitute. Cue Jaskier freaking out because he's got to put on a dress. Furthermore, why is Geralt acting so weird around him now? Thinking it best to allow the Witcher to enjoy himself, and also allow Jaskier to live out his dream a little, the bard purchases a love potion to use on the Witcher. Whether it works or not, is another question. Stick around to find out!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 41
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1: Love me, love me not

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's been awhile since I've been here. But the new Witcher drama's got me crawling out of the hiatus hole to write something and actually post it. I've taken A LOT of liberties adding in bits and bobs from the game itself. But please imagine the characters as the one's from Netflix.

Early autumn mornings are Jaskier’s favourite as he sat in the shade of a tree, a little ways away from their camp and lazily strummed his fingers over the lute. This is probably the only time of the day where his artistry won’t be interrupted. Roach was tethered to the tree nearby and grazing on the dewy grass. The words to his latest song played in the back of his mind. It had, of course, been inspired by Geralt as was the usual. Jaskier smiled fondly, oh when were his songs not inspired by the Witcher these days? Pulling his leather-bound notebook, crumpled as it was, out from his coat’s pocket, Jaskier flipped it open and quickly penned down his thoughts in the book. 

_‘He loves me he loves me not_   
_This wishful thinking’s all for naught’_

Jaskier scribbled over the writing on the page. Right…these were just such awful lyrics, he sounded like a besotted fool! He’d been so distracted by the Witcher in the past few days that everything he’d written had been about Geralt, which was usually the case, but most of the time it was about Geralt’s adventures, his fights and triumphs. Not…some silly love ballad!

“Ugh, this is unacceptable! Utterly unprofessional!” Jaskier ripped the page from his book and crumpled it tossing it aside. “I vowed to write tales of his adventures not bloody serenade him!”

For some reason travelling in close proximity with the Witcher had been nigh on intolerable these last few days. Geralt who was usually silent, and never one for many words, since he was more on the listening end, was now the exact opposite. Jaskier would never recommend that a sorceress and a Witcher travel together for the bickering was just the absolute worst. 

These days when they travelled, Jaskier preferred to keep his mount a few paces behind the two of them. Ah yes, their trio (which previously consisted of Roach, himself and Geralt) was now a quartet, with the new addition to their travelling party coming in the form of a witty, curvaceous and dark-haired beauty. She was to blame for Jaskier’s poor choice in lyrics. For to see Geralt being so close to Yennefer…instead of him…somehow…hurt. 

With a resigned sigh, Jaskier leant his head back against the tree, pushing his lute aside. 

“Roach, I don’t know how you deal with this. Doesn’t it bother you?” Jaskier muttered as the horse nickered, shifting beside him. Roach wasn’t bothered it would seem as he continued to graze. Jaskier found his eyes wandering to the sleeping Geralt now who shifted and turned to face him, his back towards the fire. The Witcher looked so harmless like this, his moon-silvered hair gently falling over his strong features. Jaskier traced his finger in the air, imagining pushing back Geralt’s silvery locks, and tucking it behind the curve of his ear.

“Oh…Geralt…” Jaskier blew out another breath as he drew his legs up to his chest, resting his chin upon it, "If only you knew the pains of being a tortured artist..."

That same yearning was back in his chest, a dull empty ache, which he knew could only be filled by Geralt’s undivided attention. 

Roach nickered and gently nudged Jaskier's hand. 

“What is it?” 

Geralt’s mount nodded towards a tiny white flower with its sunshine yellow center.

“That’s a daisy…”

Roach nickered almost impatiently. 

Jaskier lifted a brow, “I’m not playing some stupid child’s game.” 

Roach would not hear it. The horse plucked the daisy from the ground, depositing it and a mouthful of grass upon Jaskier’s shoes, an offering.

“Really, Roach, I would’ve thought you to be more mature than this…” Jaskier muttered as he picked up the now slightly mussed daisy. 

“Right then…here goes…he loves me…” 

Jaskier plucked a tiny white petal off.

“He loves me not…” 

Another petal.

“He loves me…he loves me not…”

On and on Jaskier continued until he’d reached the last petal. He didn’t dare to say it out loud for fear that it would bring life to the words.

_'He loves me not.'_

Jaskier tossed the bald daisy down alongside the smattering of petals. Only a child would believe in these sorts of things, and yet, the results had placed a damper on his mood.

“Well, maybe it’s better this way,” Jaskier tried to reason but his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears, “If one doesn’t find true love then…the next best thing would be an unrequited love. You see Roach, it’s really _much_ more romantic when you think about it, you know?”

Roach snuffed in disagreement. Jaskier sighed, no luck. He had a lot of work to do to brush up on his ‘convincing’ skills. “How about this then, all the great literature texts are about unrequited love or...or forbidden romances. In fact, they make the most coin. Perhaps I should write a book detailing our story. A Forlorn Bard’s Unrequited Love.”

Yes, Jaskier could just about see the cover of the book.

Roach snorted.

“Too much? How about A Witcher’s Ignorance?"

Roach huffed, trotting away from Jaskier.

"No? Well…whatever the case I hope that he doesn’t love me,” Jaskier mutters to himself as their party begins to wake. But deep down, Jaskier knows that the words on his tongue are the farthest from the truth. 

**xXx**

They were headed for Novigrad now, hot on the tails of Geralt’s new contract. One that involved beautiful ladies, a love potion of some sort and of course, murder. The plan was to have Yennefer dress up and be her stunning self to reel in the killer and Geralt would, as usual, save the day. In the meantime, Jaskier however, was tasked with going to the tailor’s to discuss patterns, heading to the haberdashery to look at fabrics and various other menial tasks. 

“Go fetch this for me, Jaskier! Can you pick up my order, Jaskier? Check if they have this pattern at the haberdashery, Jaskier,” he grumbled as he struggled back to The Nowhere Inn laden with packages and boxes full of things for Yennefer to try on. “You have two goddamn feet so why don’t you make some use of them!” 

Now if he could only…just…get the handle for the door…

“Jaskier?” came that husky voice right by his ear, “Hold on, let me get the door for you.”

Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin at the familiar sound of the Witcher’s voice so close by his ear. 

“Ah, Geralt! I didn’t expect you…to be here…” Jaskier trailed off when he felt callused hands take the boxes and packages from him, lightening his load. “How nice of you.” 

_'Guess he doesn’t just come to the rescue of pretty damsels in distress…'_

“Did Yen ask you to collect all this by yourself?” Geralt asked when they finally set everything down at one of the tables.

“Yes and no. I figured if I got all of the things for her now then I wouldn’t have to make two trips. But you know, knowing _your_ sorceress, she’ll probably have me going on another field trip tomorrow or something of the sort.” 

“Not my sorceress,” Geralt corrected. 

Jaskier ignored the way his heart jumped at that sentence and the hope it brought him, “Sure,” he answered flippantly, “Anyway I’d best get the dress up to her first. I’m sure she’ll want to try it on and preen and strut about before you.” 

“And what do I do with the rest of these things?” 

Jaskier shrugged, “You can help to bring them up later I guess. Or she can jolly well come down here to collect them herself.” 

**xXx**

Jaskier was surprised to find the sorceress’ room still in darkness when he let himself in. It was already past noon! Suppose, Yennefer decided to have a lie-in since she wasn’t the one going out to all the shops. Jaskier rolled his eyes, if only he hadn’t been so nice as to agree to her request.

_'Well…that’s what you get for wanting to look like a kind soul in front of the Witcher.'_

“Alright, rise and shine, milady!” Jaskier called as he tossed the box with the dress onto the bed and threw open the curtains letting the light flood into the room. He only wished he had a pot and pan to smash together like cymbals for extra effect.

From somewhere amongst the covers, Yennefer groaned. “For heaven’s sakes! Stop shouting and shut the curtains!”

“It’s past midday, I’ve got your dress and whatever else that you need for that masquerade retreat, ball, function thing at the Vegelbud’s residence. You’re going to want to try it on.” 

“The masquerade…” Yennefer sighed as she sat up in bed, her hair in disarray. She looked nowhere close to her usual perfect self. Her hair closely resembled a ransacked bird’s nest and her nose was as red as a tomato, “I don’t feel up to it.” 

Jaskier made a face, “Well…clearly. You look horrendous.” 

Yennefer frowned, “I _feel_ horrendous.”

Another roll of his eyes, “I suppose you’re going to ask me to pick up some herbs or what not to concoct some sort of potion that gets you better?” 

“I’d much rather not attend the masquerade to be brutally honest,” Yennefer confessed.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, “Excuse me, I don’t think I heard that correctly. You’d rather _not_ attend the masquerade ball?!” Now, he was hopping mad, “After all I’ve done? I ran around Novigrad and collected all of your things, all for nothing? This is a disaster!”

“Jaskier, hear me out,” Yennefer snapped and then sneezed something violent, she sighed, “You don’t have to worry. I’ve got a stand-in.” 

“Oh, great, well done!” Jaskier retorted sarcastically as he gave her a mock round of applause, “I suppose you’re going to conjure her up here, now? Go on, I'm waiting."

Yennefer raised a brow and looked pointedly at him. 

“O-kay…maybe not? Are you perchance going to send a raven?” 

Yennefer continued _looking_ , no, staring at Jaskier as if he was supposed to understand…well…no…there was no way…

“Why…do I get the strange feeling that…I’m…supposed to be your replacement?” Jaskier said slowly, hoping against hope that it wasn’t true.

“Congratulations,” Yennefer smirked, at the blossoming horror on the bard’s face. 

“No. Absolutely not! Nonononono! You can’t do this to me!” he snapped jabbing a finger in the sorceress’ direction, “I can’t…I won’t!” he crossed his arms over his chest. This was not a matter he was going to back out on.

“You most certainly have to. For the plan to work, or all of it will have gone to waste!” 

Jaskier was utterly appalled. ' _Geralt’s plan, gone to waste! Oh, the horror indeed!'_ He paced. He paced like mad in the confines of the tiny room. He felt like screaming and shouting, perhaps jumping up and down and stomping his feet and also yelling at Yennefer. Lots of yelling at Yennefer. 

“This is a nightmare! I refuse!” he snapped throwing his arms up in the air, “I’m…I’m not…like you, luscious, dark-haired with beautiful eyes and blessed with a curvaceous to boot figure! I’m…” Jaskier waved dismissively at his unimpressive self, “Short, dumpy, not much of a looker really, especially since this mission depends on _your_ looks to reel this monster in. You have powers and…and…I don’t…I-I-I can’t even begin to imagine how I’m going to _defend_ myself!” 

“Jaskier! Jaskier listen! You won’t have to. Don’t be silly,” Yennefer replied coolly lest the bard freak out even more, “Geralt’s there for a reason.” 

“Oh and I suppose he’s going to be fine parading around with an oddly dressed _fool_ on his arm for the entire night. Not to mention, participating in _dances_!”

“You’d be surprised at the things Geralt and his Witcher friends can get up to when they’re drunk. You’ve never had them raid your chests of clothes. Very interesting night that one was.” Yennefer narrowed her eyes, “And I thought you danced, milord? I’ve seen you dancing before with the Countess and the ladies at court.” 

“I’m a viscount, not a lord, don’t you dare drop the ranks. And for your information with the ladies, I was leading them not being led!” Jaskier countered, before taking a deep breath to calm himself, “Look, why are you doing this? How did you fall sick? Sorceresses’ don’t just fall sick…”

Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest, sniffling, “You think I’m making this up?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past you. You just want to humiliate me.”

“Please, I won’t even be there to watch your downfall. Besides, I think perhaps Geralt would welcome a change of scenery.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to retort but the door to the room burst open with a gust of wind and Geralt stood there with all the packages piled high in his arms. 

Yennefer quickly ran her hands through her now windblown hair, “I thought we agreed no signing Aard, indoors?” 

“Perhaps if you had lesser boxes, I might have been able to manage with the door.” 

“It’s nothing a big, strong, Witcher can’t handle,” she said smiling sweetly.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed, “Geralt, talk some sense into her. She wants me to go to the Vegelbud’s masquerade thing with you, in a dress!” 

Geralt raised a brow as he set the things down and turned to face the sorceress, “What’s the matter Yen? A week of partying and socialising with society’s finest suddenly doesn’t appeal to you?”

“I’ve got a cold or something worse. Fever too, I think,” she said putting a hand to her forehead and looking all sickly. 

“Why not ask someone else? I’m sure you can get someone else? You know, that other friend of yours?” Jaskier said drumming his fingers against his chin, “Curly hair girl.” 

“Triss?” Geralt asked. 

“Ah yes her! Ask her. She’d be ecstatic to join you at the masquerade.”

“She’s nowhere near Novigrad I’m afraid,” Yennefer replied, “Last I heard she was sailing off somewhere in Skellige.” 

“Hmm. That’s more than a day’s travel. Even if she were to come here, there wouldn’t be time to brief her on the mission.”

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, “Isn’t there some kind of insta-cure? Begone sickness I curse thee!” he intoned waggling his fingers in Yennefer’s direction.

The Witcher and the sorceress looked at him funny.

Geralt raised a brow at Jaskier’s incantation, “I’m afraid minor illnesses sometimes affect even powerful sorceresses. She needs rest.”

“And you, Geralt, need a crash course in dancing, from your new dance master,” Yennefer said nodding towards Jaskier. 

**xXx**

Dancing with Geralt was too much of a mess. Jaskier could hardly count the number of times he lost himself in the Witcher’s amber eyes. Instructions seemed to be reeds on rapids floating away from far too quickly. The tunes of the usual pieces they performed at balls were like long-forgotten songs. On top of that, he seemed to have sprouted two left feet. Jaskier had apologised countless times and Yennefer had her fair share of nasally laughs. They broke away for dinner and vowed to come back to practice later on. But lo and behold, Yennefer wanted him to try on the dress. “To imitate the actual dance routine,” she’d said. Now Jaskier barely felt like stepping out from behind the changing screen. 

“It’ll be better to practice with the full attire she said,” Jaskier muttered mimicking Yennefer, “Now I look like a fat troll.” No matter which way he turned there was this huge mass of fabric that swung either way at his hips. On top of that, was the damned corset and the stockings on his legs. 

“Do you need any help over there?” Yennefer asked. 

“I know how this whole dress thing works so, no! I just…I need a little time to adjust to this.” 

There was one plus side, Yennefer had good taste. The ballgown was made to look like the night sky, off-shouldered and entirely black with specks of silver across the full skirt, it was pretty but...the bodice was all intricate detail with a smattering of silver that passed for stars and would have emphasised Yennefer’s cleavage. Jaskier however, was washboard flat. Of course, he had no choice, but to leave the sanctuary of the dressing screen to stand before the jury. 

With a swishing of fabric and carefully placed steps, Jaskier emerged from behind the dressing screen. 

“Congratulations on your horrendous idea,” Jaskier snapped as he awkwardly pulled the dress up and crossed his arms over his chest. Jaskier had never felt so utterly naked and to top it off, the weight of the dress bore him down. God, he would be a sitting duck, if the killer were to attack him! Bless doublets, tunics and breeches forever for he was going to miss them!

They were sorceress and Witcher, both doing that same staring. Geralt more so than Yennefer. Jaskier felt a hot flush growing on his cheeks and down his neck.

Geralt’s intense amber gaze was making him feel all hot…

“What, what are you staring at? Is there something on my face, Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head, “No.”

“Alright, I know…I look godawful, so let’s just get to it already!” Jaskier snapped as he avoided Geralt’s eyes. 

“Yen, perhaps you can alter the dress a little,” Geralt said to the sorceress, “I doubt Jaskier feels comfortable in that. Why not try sheer lace sleeves, something to cover up his arms.” 

_'Oh you read my mind!'_

“And his chest or lack thereof,” Yennefer added. 

Yennefer did her sorceress-y job and Jaskier could feel the smooth fabric whispering against his arms and up his neck. Jaskier admired the new sleeves, fashioned from lace. They were shimmery silver, just like the bodice. 

“You couldn’t have done this earlier?” 

Yennefer shrugged, “I’m dealing with an illness, Jaskier. It’s hard to think of other’s discomforts as well.” 

“I’m doing you a favour by putting on this get-up in the first place,” he muttered waving a hand over the ballgown, “We all know _this_ would all have been avoided if _you_ , hadn’t fallen sick.”

“Well that’s totally unfair, I’m just like you in every aspect Jaskier—“

“Except for the fact that you can open portals and live about a thousand years give or take? Now all of a sudden it's, oh look at me I’m Yennefer of Vengeberg and I’m sick!” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. 

“And you’re always on her side, of course!” Jaskier snapped, throwing up his hands in resignation, “What am I to expect? Two little lovebirds sitting in a tree…with a lonely porter or should I say, errand boy picking up after them? I almost wish I hadn’t agreed to join you this time, Geralt. The songs and tales from this would be utterly boring.” 

“Mmm the little Bard only has a flair for the dramatic,” Yennefer said before breaking off into a fit of coughs. 

“I think that’s enough from the both of you,” Geralt cut in, his tone calm but with an edge to it, “Yen, I think you should go back to your room. Get some rest for the night. I’ll sort things out with Jaskier.” 

“Well the simplest thing would be to call this whole thing off,” Jaskier muttered as he watched Yennefer leave the room with Geralt's help. 

Now, a Witcher and a Bard stood across from one another in the small confines of their room in the inn. One silently watching. The other, a frustrated mess. 

Jaskier fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, the Bard’s nervous tell as Geralt knew it. He was awfully silent and it didn’t look like he was going to speak first. 

“Jaskier, look if it’s really not something that you want to do then that’s fine. I’m sure I can track this killer down on my own.”

Worried blue-grey eyes met the Witcher’s and Geralt could see that the Bard was torn. Jaskier sighed heavily as he looked skywards and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Geralt you know I’d do near anything for you,” Jaskier confessed as he pursed his lips feeling the way his throat constricted. “Oh…this...this is harder than I thought!” 

“What is?” 

_'I’m afraid if I spend an entire week pretending that we’re a couple I’m not going to be able to wake up from that dream…or at least I won’t want to go back to normal.'_

“I’d go with you to the masquerade ball…if you really need,” Jaskier began, wording his sentences carefully, “But if…let’s say…that if the Countess De Stael was there? Or…other troubadours, I’ve played with? My cover would be blown instantly! They’d know who I was beneath this ridiculous outfit in an instant!”

Geralt raised a brow at the Bard, “It’s a masquerade. You’re going to be covering your face.” 

“But…what about...my stature?” Jaskier asked weakly planting his arms on his hips as if that was any help. 

“Unless they’ve spent a long time in your company I doubt they’d recognise all your stature, traits and tells. Anything else you’re worried about?” 

Fine. What other excuses could he give? _'Think, Jaskier! Think...Ah!'_

“But…w-what about the danger I’m going to be in. You’ve seen the corpses. You said yourself the killer’s a sick fuck. I don’t want to end up like them, I’d much rather have my head planted firmly on my shoulders and my chest not ripped apart, thank you very much.” 

“Do you really doubt my capabilities, Jaskier?” Geralt asked as he approached the brunet, who shrunk back from him, “I said that I would protect you. I swore you’d be safe and that no harm would befall you, whatever it is,” he continued as he settled a hand on the bard’s now accentuated waist and held Jaskier’s other hand aloft, just as the bard had taught him this afternoon. “I promised you. Do you truly believe that I would go back on my word and let harm befall you?” 

There it was again. The fluttering in his stomach as Geralt drew him in close. Jaskier sucked in a breath as he settled his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. Words failed him and his mind became a foggy plain. There was something earnest in the way the Witcher looked and oh, his words…his words were a spell. Jaskier trusted him entirely to hold up his end of the bargain to protect him. He did not, however, trust himself to be with Geralt like this for the next _week_!

“Do you?” Geralt prompted. 

Jaskier shook his head, he was sure he was staring. But Geralt’s amber eyes were hypnotic and he found it hard to turn away. He felt as the Witcher led them in a silent waltz about the room. Geralt’s brow furrowed in focus as if counting the steps was just too much. There was a slight squeeze against his waist and Jaskier inhaled sharply, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He averted his eyes as the blood rushed in his ears. Their bodies...pressed together...

“Geralt, you should ease up,” Jaskier said softly, “A waltz is not tense…”

“Mhm.”

Jaskier chanced a flick of his gaze up and found the Witcher still looking so sternly at him.

_'Oh, he must hate this!'_

The more he thought, the more embarrassed he became.

“Okay, stop,” Jaskier said, “You’re not doing it right.”

Jaskier pulled away from him, taking a breath of air that smelled like Geralt.

“How so? I was counting the steps in my head.” 

Jaskier chuckled, “I knew it. Alright, I have a suggestion,” he said as he drew in a deep calming breath and approached Geralt again, “I want you to close your eyes.” 

“What for?” 

“You need to feel the music, to be one with it. That is how you waltz, you feel,” Jaskier told him. 

_'Aaand also you won’t be able to distract me…'_

Geralt listened. He closed his eyes now and the world descended into darkness. He could hear the crackle and pop of the fire. The flicker of the candle. The soft wind. The whisper of fabric as Jaskier moved closer to him. He felt the bard’s hands take his, one held aloft, the other made to settle against the curve of Jaskier's slender waist. He heard Jaskier’s soft intake of breath, felt the little shudder. Jaskier was nervous.

“Right…you see…I’m usually the one playing the music and I um…uh…usually do the leading too,” Jaskier muttered. 

Even with his eyes closed, Geralt was intimidating.

“You’re nervous.” 

Jaskier chose not to reply to that. 

_'Who wouldn’t be, they’re standing before a Witcher. Enveloped in his strong, powerful arms…'_

Instead, he powered through it, “I’ll hum you a waltz and you, listen, feel and lead.” 

**xXx  
**

Geralt looked more relaxed this time and since he wasn’t being so stiff, he proved to be quite a good dancer. Jaskier could only just begin to imagine them floating across the spacious ballroom in the Vegelbud mansion, surrounded by the other dancers but lost in their own world of…longing gazes…fleetingly light touches…heavenly music hypnotising them and Geralt just gazing at h—

Jaskier must have missed a step because the next thing he knew he was tumbling and falling in a mess of lace and fabric onto Geralt.

_'Wonderful, how ladylike! The bed! You could not have picked a better place to fall!'_

“I’ve got you.” 

Geralt’s arms were wrapped about him and Jaskier propped himself up, hand on Geralt's broad chest. He wondered how many times Geralt had women atop him like this, looking down at him, lost in his amber eyes and the way his moon-silver hair fanned out against the sheets. He wondered if they would be distracted by the way his lips moved as he spoke. Or if they gasped at the way his hands moved to the small of their back…

“Jaskier, did you hear what I said?” 

Jaskier pulled his hand away as though he'd been burnt. “I-Yes? I’m so sorry…I wasn’t paying attention. Missed a step…” he backed away quickly feeling Geralt’s arms slip away from about his waist. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’m not used to this death trap is all,” Jaskier finished as he waved at the accursed voluminous skirt. 

Geralt chuckled, “For your information, I think you were doing great until you got distracted.”

“Can’t help that I was thinking too far ahead,” Jaskier confessed as he bit his bottom lip, “There’s just too many problems with this. My hair for one, I’m going to need a wig and can you imagine dancing with that wig? The shoes for another, I don’t exactly make it a daily practice to strut about in whatever killer stilts Yennefer might have prepared for me. Oh and don’t even get me started on the corset!”

“That’s why you’ll have me to rely on or did you forget about that?” 

Jaskier smiled but sighed all the same. Geralt would never understand what he was feeling right now. How could he? It was excitement and fear and hope all bundled into one and dunked straight into the icy waters of reality. Geralt would be regretting the fact that he ever made the choice to let Jaskier take Yennefer’s place…unless…the sly thought had crossed his mind over lunch and now it came back like an unwanted peddler of goods: perhaps a love potion would make Geralt’s (and also Jaskier's) forthcoming week seem much more pleasant.


	2. Emotion, thy Name is Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's the next update. We're getting to the week's celebrations at the mansion and boy do I have some things planned for these two and also Yen. As always, leave me comments and suggestions if there's something you'd like to see and kudos are always much appreciated! Enjoy!

Geralt was, all things considered, a light sleeper. So, when he heard the slightest creak in the floorboards he cracked open an eye to find the bed next to his void of a certain bard. The Witcher waited until he’d heard the sound of the door closing followed by the creaking of the steps before he sat up, for no matter how one tried to sneak, the Nowhere Inn’s stairs would not allow them such privilege. 

Jaskier had probably gone out to run errands once more. The bard had mentioned getting a wig last night after all and while it was probably not going to be a dangerous trip, Geralt found he could not go back to sleep. In moments, the Witcher was out of bed and pulling on his clothes. Knowing Jaskier, it was better to keep an eye on him than to leave him to his own devices and besides that’s what…friends did for one another…

_'Hmm…he is a friend, right?'_

Strangely enough, Geralt could not put a positive ‘yes’ to that question. The Witcher had his doubts about his relationship with the blue-eyed bard. He cared for the bard, yes, more so than other people he’d met but it had taken _years_ for Geralt to open up to him and even now, Geralt was still discovering new things about Jaskier. Yesterday for example, while they were practicing the waltz, Geralt could not stop thinking about the slight curve of Jaskier’s pale neck pre Yennefer’s dress alteration or the angular lines of his collarbone for that matter. 

He’d found that the bard had warm, soft and almost smooth hands save for the blemishes that came from playing his lute. Unlike Yennefer’s scent of lilac and gooseberries, Jaskier smelled faintly of parchment and a strange blend of perfume that seemed to combine notes of peach blossoms and vanilla with something woody or earthy. Then there was the way his blue-grey eyes sparkled as his lips curled up into a smile. And finally not to forget the press of Jaskier’s body against his when the bard had tripped up during their practice session. Now, either the alcohol had to have a part to play that night or Jaskier’s existence had rendered a Witcher’s training obsolete. 

Because Geralt had _felt_. 

Things. 

Down there. 

Now, of course, logic dictated that Geralt’s reaction was the cause of being on the road too long surrounded by companions and therefore being unable to take care of some…needs without ample privacy. But common sense also said that Geralt didn’t just get aroused by any tom dick and harry. It was an unprofessional situation, to say the least, and had Jaskier not been a nervous wreck, the latter would probably have noticed his slight discomfort. 

While being a Witcher, usually meant tracking down the odd criminal from time to time, surveying your surroundings and finding clues that led you on a wild goose chase. Tracking Jaskier was a pretty straightforward task and fairly safe since the bard wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It was straight to buy the wig, and then a quick but awkward encounter in a discreet ‘underthings’ shop, which Jaskier left with a small parcel tucked under his arm, before spending the better half of an hour browsing second hand travelling chests and haggling for a good price on a small brown suitcase. It was from this point that things started to get weird.

**xXx**

Haggling with the shopkeepers was just one of Jaskier’s many talents. A sob story here, a little tear shed over there and voila, what had once cost 150 crowns, Jaskier had purchased at a mere 15 crowns. What a steal! With the small travelling case in hand, Jaskier headed in the direction of the Artisan Market. He took the longer route for gods only knew that he’d been putting this task off since the moment he’d set out. Well, it wasn’t really putting off per se…but…he was still debating if he should invest in a love potion. 

As he approached the brightly coloured stalls in the Artisan’s Market, Jaskier took a stroll down the various lanes, in that ‘casually interested but just browsing’ sort of way. Here you could find the best hand made woven baskets, hand-carved figurines, odd medicines and curatives for diseases some of which Jaskier hadn’t even heard of. 

There was also a fortune teller and of course the deep velvet red cloth table with the beautifully hand-painted sign that read, Madame Paramour’s Trinkets & Charms. Just what he needed. It had only been a few days since Geralt and Jaskier had come here, for the purpose of interrogating Madame Paramour and all Jaskier could remember was Geralt saying that she was harmless.

_'Which is good. You want harmless. You want a potion that’s not going to have…bad side-effects on him…so harmless, harmless is good.'_

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier strode right up to the shop…

…and passed by Madame Paramour’s, pretending to take a look at the baubles of the next store. 

_'But what if it goes wrong? And he’s stuck in love with you forever…that…could be good right? No. No! Absolutely not. That’s horrible! He wouldn’t have chosen you of his own free will…oh you’re bloody taking away his free will! That would be criminal!'_

Jaskier crossed over to the opposite row of stores, looking at the exotic carpets as if he was ever so interested in their odd patterns or the stories that they told.

_'Hmm…do love potions and spells even work on Witchers? I’ve never actually seen Geralt under a spell…but Yennefer’s managed to make him fall asleep before…though it’s probably because she’s just THAT boring.'_

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the root cause of all his problems in the past 24-hours. Sadly, there was no information in relation to his question that he could attain instantly. Sure, Jaskier could head to the Oxenfurt University and scour the library for answers but he was short of time right now. The only way to find out if the potion worked, was to buy one and try it out.

And so, Jaskier squared his shoulders and strode up to Madame Paramour’s.

“Ye be havin’ a troubled heart, son,” the old woman said fixing him with her kohl-rimmed eyes as soon as he’d walked over.

“Really? You can tell just from looking at my face?” Jaskier asked incredulously, his brow furrowing with worry because…

_'Oh no...what if Geralt could tell as well?'_

“I saw ye walking around pretendin’ ye was goin’ to buy somethin’. But ye weren’t. Ye was considerin’. Ye have a problem, son. One that weighs heavy on yer mind.” 

“Well…yes…of course, I wouldn’t be here otherwise now would I?” 

The old woman gave a toothy smirk, “Cheeky. Dinna bring yer stern friend, now?” 

_'No he_ is _the problem you see!'_

“He doesn’t need to know about all this.” 

“Right then, come…tell Madame Paramour what ails you.”

Jaskier looked around furtively before he spoke, “Say if I, uh…have a person I like…” he began, his hands already doing their usual run of nervous gesticulations, “and um…you know she’s…not really reciprocative of my affections or um…seems to find being with me a chore…” he scrubbed the back of his neck, unsure if that was too little or too much information, “I was wondering if you might have a um…sort of love potion kind of thing to make it better? Make her more appreciative and actually enjoy my company kind of thing?”

The crone smirked, “She a pretty one?” 

Jaskier smiled, “She’s…special…I’ve known her for a while and um…” he shrugged, there was too much to say about Geralt, “Somehow along the way I realised something had clicked…sadly it might only be me…so…” 

Madame Paramour nodded sagely. Good, she understood his plight. 

“So how long do ye need yer love potion for, son?”

“A-A week at most? We’re going to be spending a week together and I just want her to enjoy her time, regardless of having a besotted fool at her side.”

Madame Paramour lapped up the information before she narrowed her eyes, “OH…yer going to the Vegelbud mansion, eh? Week of wonder or some such. Tryin’ to snatch a rich girlie?”

“S-s-sort of…”

The crone shook her head, “A noble…” she muttered as she shuffled to one of the shelves behind her that held a small wooden box, “Well them potions they don’t come cheap. Fifty crowns.” 

_'Seriously, woman? Did she not hear my story?'_

“Look I know this potion won’t last and when it’s over it’ll just be me and my unrequited love, Madame…please just for a week won’t you let me live my dreams?” 

Madame Paramour smirked, “I know what yer doin’.”

“Good! Then you’ll know that you cannot put a price on love, please…you’re the only one who can help me, Madame Paramour! Hasn’t there ever been one person you’ve wanted to spend your life with but couldn’t because of life’s circumstances?”

The old woman frowned, “Twenty-five crowns.” 

“How about fifteen?” Jaskier wheedled.

“No, twenty. Tis’ my final offer.” 

“Alright…twenty it is…” Jaskier sighed as he took out his small purse of coins, “The last of my savings then…but I’ll bet it all on love.”

He pulled out a ten crown and set it on the table, going back to rummage about in the purse, “Oh it’ll be so worth it, I can’t wait to look into her eyes and tell her that I love her…only…she’ll never remember any of that…” 

Jaskier set a five crown on the table and went back to rummaging.

Madame Paramour sighed as she scooped up the coins and set the small vial of rose pink liquid on the table, “Fifteen it is. Keep yer purse, son and make sure to pour it into their drink or food!” 

Jaskier played the part of the awestruck, lovesick fool and let a tear or two slip from his eyes, “Oh Madame!” he gasped, as he threw his arms around her neck, “You are most kind! I will be sure to tell all of my friends about how you helped me. Thank you so much for letting me live my dreams even if it’s just for a week!” 

Madame Paramour just grunted in response, “Get ye gone, son.”

Jaskier pocketed the potion. Fifteen for a love potion wasn’t too bad. He’s heard of the financial damage that the more ‘harmful’ love potions could do. In fact, he once had a troubadour friend who’d ended up selling his instruments to buy one. He was still with the girl happily married, they couldn’t be more in love with each other. But Jaskier didn’t want something long-lasting…just a week…it would be enough and he would treasure it forever. 

Jaskier was headed down the slightly busy street now, back in the direction of the Nowhere Inn. But the street was full of temptation and the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted in the air. Jaskier’s stomach growled, twisting in hunger. 

_'Might as well get some breakfast…'_

Turning back around Jaskier found Geralt a few paces back, eyes trained on him. 

“Geralt?”

_'Fuck!! Oh, no. This is bad. Why him? Why now? Why here? What to I tell him? Is he following me? Okay calm down! Think!'_

Jaskier knows it would be out of his character to do anything but go over to Geralt. So, he approaches the Witcher slower than was usual but he can blame the luggage later. 

_'Fuck.'_

Geralt did not see that coming. Following Jaskier was supposed to be easy. But he should have known better. The bard was always full of surprises. Jaskier sauntered through the crowd over to him now all smiles and swinging luggage. 

“Geralt! Up at the arse-crack of dawn, I see!” 

“Mhm. So are you it seems.”

“I needed some fresh air,” Jaskier replied as he held the luggage behind his back and rocked back and forth on his feet, “You know, turn about the city in the morning…short walks…fresh air. It uh…really gets the um…creative juices running and such.” 

_'Totally wasn’t running around trying to get a potion without getting caught…'_

Jaskier smiled, “What…brings you here?”

“Saw you in the crowd. Was going to get my sword sharpened, but thought I’d come over just to check if you were alright with Yen’s things.” 

The bard raised a finely arched brow, “Your…sword?” he asked because Geralt’s twin blades were missing from his back.

_'Damn.'_

“I meant dagger,” Geralt replied smoothly as he nodded to the blade set in its sheath and strapped to his thigh.

“Ah! Your trophy cutting dagger…good choice.” 

An awkward silence fell between them. 

The Witcher was still thinking about how after years of training at Kaer Morhen and he had been caught by this bard. While the bard himself was dealing with a most complicated problem: how to sneak a Witcher a love potion.

Jaskier’s stomach grumbled again. 

“Let’s get something to eat.”

“You should get something to eat.”

They both chuckled. 

Jaskier smiled and shook his head, “Sorry…perhaps I need a good drink to wake my senses up. Would you…perhaps like a drink as well?” 

“No, thank you.” 

_'But you certainly need a drink.'_

Jaskier frowned, “Are you sure? Bread can get preeeetty dry sometimes.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Well, it’s a shame, but I’ll get a drink anyway and we can share.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt frowned, “I’m good, promise,”

Jaskier shrugged nonchalantly, “And here I thought you loved to drink,” he said, “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you when you happen to have a mouthful of bread and its so dry you’re begging to wash it down with a quick drink.”

“Get in the shop,” Geralt sighed as he took the second-hand suitcase from Jaskier, “We should head back before Yen wakes up.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t want your Princess to miss you!” Jaskier called.

The smile faded from his face as he turned his back on Geralt, headed for the bakery. Every time he did this, the words simply hurt and cut into his heart. But Jaskier possessed superb thespian talents, his cheerfulness alone was enough at least to fool Geralt…for now…

**xXx**

Geralt was not a fool. Jaskier and Yennefer were like fire and ice. Put the two in a room together and leave them alone and all hell would break loose. But this was different. Yennefer had spent the entire morning trying to alter some of her clothes to fit Jaskier a task which was easy but, on a sickly sorceress was probably twice as hard. Instead of simply making his snide remarks and calling it a day, Jaskier was refusing all the designs simply because ‘there is not enough colour’ and ‘an all-black wardrobe is not my style’. Basically, he was being a total prick. 

However, Geralt had noticed that apart from becoming a total prick, Jaskier had seemed to become altogether dysfunctional. For in the time since they had returned from the market, Jaskier had: ripped a hem, knocked over a basin of water, bumped his head on the table while trying to pick up said basin, lost track of the tune for the waltz, tripped over his own two feet and stepped on Geralt’s own a good dozen times more than yesterday.

Something was off, something was definitely off. 

“Perhaps a break is in order?” Geralt asked as Jaskier apologised for the thousandth time.

“We’re heading to the mansion tonight. There’s no time for a break!” 

“I don’t think any amount of practice is going to keep you from being an elephant, Jaskier,” Yennefer said sweetly and blew her nose into her handkerchief as if to solidify that statement.

“Perhaps you need to stop sounding like an elephant and looking like a tomato,” Jaskier bit back as he ran his hands through his hair, bristling with frustration, “I’m going to get lunch.” 

In his hurry, Jaskier flung the door open and it slammed hard against the wall. He flinched, “Sorry,” he ground out as he stormed out of the room, footsteps clambering down the squeaky stairs. 

Yennefer blinked at the bard’s departure before she turned her violet eyes to Geralt, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” 

“I think he’s worried about the party tonight,” Geralt said as he offered a hand to Yennefer to help her out of the bed. 

“I’m not a cripple, Geralt, not yet anyway.” 

“Mhm…”

“Why’s he worried? Don’t tell me he’s still afraid? He’s been on adventures with you, seen you fight great beasts and creatures of legend, right? I don’t believe he’s afraid of some cultist killer. It’s simply absurd.”

“I think it’s got to do with a woman,” Geralt replied softly as they took the stairs down one at a time. 

“A woman?” Yennefer’s eyes sparkled, “Oh do tell.”

“I followed Jaskier this morning.” 

“Mmm nothing unusual there.” 

Geralt frowned, “Yen…I don’t do it all the time. I just think he shouldn’t wander around unarmed is all.” 

“Go on,” Yennefer prompted as she settled into one of the benches in a corner of the inn.

“I followed Jaskier and he went to pick up some more items, bought a suitcase too before he headed to Madame Paramour’s where he bought a love potion for a rich woman. He told the Madame it was his dream to spend a week with her.”

“Under the influence of a fake potion? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” 

“Precisely. But he believes it’s real.” 

Yennefer was appalled. “A road-side stall love potion could never be the real thing! It’s so much…messier but there have been some good results and happy customers. He could have just come to me! Madame Paramour’s is probably just sugared water or something and you…haven’t got the heart to tell him…” Yennefer mused noting a flicker of emotion in Geralt’s eyes.

“Mhm…”

“Do you know who this lucky girl is?” 

“No.”

_'One thing’s for sure. This mysterious woman has turned Jaskier into a mess.'_

Yennefer’s features lit up as she motioned for Geralt to come closer, “It’s no wonder then that he’s nervous to go to the Vegelbud’s mansion in my dresses. He’s worried the woman’s going to be there and see him. You must tell me what happens and who she is.” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. Something about that statement didn’t sit right with him. He vaguely remembers Jaskier telling him that he’d decided not to meet any more women after the Countess broke it off with him. So unless there was another woman, one which Jaskier had deemed him unworthy to know about, then the Witcher was at a loss.

Just as quickly, Yennefer shooed Geralt backward, “We’ll continue this later. Your bard’s coming back.”

_'My bard…'_

Geralt turned and watched as Jaskier miraculously balanced three bowls of food.

“Here’s my apology. Lunch,” Jaskier said as he set the bowls down. Curse the fact that the gruel might have been stained with the love potion and Jaskier did not want to risk Geralt finding out. He’d have to find another plan which, should be relatively easy…or so he hoped.

“Not gruel and salted fish, Jaskier you didn’t!” Yennefer gushed as the scent of the salted fish hit her nose. “My favourite.” She made a face.

“You don’t get to complain. You’re ill so, eat up! Now, drinks anyone?” Jaskier asked as casually as possible.

Yennefer unhappily played with the slop in her bowl, “Any more liquid and I’ll become one myself.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier looked to the Witcher expectantly. _‘Come on, come on…’_

“None for me, thanks.”

 _‘Damn it!’_ “You sure? We could toast to tonight. To our good luck, and me hopefully not making a fool of myself.” 

Geralt relented, “Why not then,” because if it made Jaskier feel more at ease then, that would be great. A part of him felt sorry at having to force Jaskier into this but it was true that they had no other options. All their options were simply too far away. He only hoped that Jaskier’s secret girlfriend wouldn’t somehow find them, because destiny always had a weird way of working.

_'You could have pushed the matter of going on your own. But you didn’t. You enjoy his company.'_

“You know sick people food is utterly disgusting,” Yennefer complained as she spooned the awful gruel into her mouth. The sorceress made a face of disgust as she swallowed and tried to get the horrible aftertaste of salted fish out of her mouth, “Geralt would you be a dear and get me some water?” 

“Sure.” 

The Witcher stood and made his way over to the bar. Geralt thought it strange to find Jaskier still at the counter but stranger still was the fact that Jaskier was hurriedly tipping the contents of a small, familiar looking vial into one of the drinks. He slowed his pace watching as Jaskier conversed with the bartender and stirred the potion into the tankard of ale.

_'There is no other woman. Jaskier was lying. The potion is meant for you!'_

Geralt swore he wouldn’t say a word even after he’d witnessed the scene happening before him. Oh, he would use this to his advantage. He could tease the bard and Jaskier would be none the wiser.

“Innkeep, fresh mug of water!” Geralt called out watching as the bard actually jumped at his voice. 

“Geralt!” the brunet chirped as he turned, eyes all wide-like. He plastered a smile to his face, “I thought you were with the ungrateful patient?” 

“I came to get Yen’s water.” 

“Thought she didn’t want any,” Jaskier laughed nervously as he eyed the steins of ale. Could Geralt smell the love potion with his super heightened Witcher senses? He _really_ hoped not.

“Is that mine?” Geralt asked indicating the tankard closest to him, the one that he had witnessed Jaskier pouring Madame Paramour’s potion into, “Got a sudden hankerin’ for some ale so, thanks,” he said as he grabbed it and began to chug it down, delectable neck exposed and his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. 

Jaskier was shocked at the rate at which the Witcher was chugging that ale down, love potion and all. He wondered if there were any side effects to drinking love potions _that_ quickly. Soon as he was done, Geralt set the tankard back down on the counter and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Jaskier studied the Witcher expectantly. 

_'How does one know if their target is under the spell already? Someone should write a guide for these things, might sell well…'_

Nothing seemed to have changed. Geralt’s eyes hadn’t gone glazed over or turned into heart shapes as Jaskier’d once heard a tale been told. He didn’t seem any different than usual. Perhaps love potions didn’t work on Witchers’ after all?

“Umm…Geralt?” 

Amber eyes stared deeply into blue-grey ones. 

“Do you…feel…any different?” Jaskier asked as he grabbed his own tankard and took a casual sip just to test things out. Perhaps he’d stupidly gone and put the love potion into his own drink?

“No? Should I be feeling different?” Geralt asked as he raised a brow at the bard.

“N-n-no reason…” Jaskier said with a little shrug setting his tankard back down on the countertop. _'That damned crone! I am so getting my money back from her! The bloody bit—'_

“Jaskier…” the Witcher husked as he grabbed the bard’s chin, tipping his head up just so that his blue-grey eyes caught the light.

_'Whoa…'_

“Y-yes Geralt?”

Geralt watched as a shy blush started to creep its way across Jaskier’s pale skin, colouring his cheeks with a nice flush. “Some reason…I just...wanted to tell you that you have such beautiful eyes.”

“B-b-beautiful eyes?” Jaskier squeaked as the Witcher took another step closer. It should be illegal to have Geralt this close to him and gazing at him so…longingly… “Geralt what are you…saying?” he asks laughing nervously because Geralt never said such things out loud. In public! With an entire tavern almost full of people and Yennefer watching as well!

“I only meant, have they always been this lovely to look at?”

“I...wha-I-I don’t know!?!” 

“Hmm…I think they have.” 

Geralt continued his little game. It was fun to tease his bard just a bit and watch him panic. He let go of Jaskier’s chin, “Another thing.” Geralt drew his finger down the column of Jaskier’s pale, slender neck watching the bard shudder and bite his lower lip as he let out a shuddery breath. “I never noticed how smooth your skin was.”

_'Oooh-boy he’s too good. No, the potions too good! But also Geralt’s too good!'_

“And your collarbone I would love t—”

Jaskier had to put a stop to that! He claps a hand over the Witcher’s mouth, "Alright, that's enough," he chuckled nervously staring up at Geralt, “I…think…you should save your sweet nothings for later, Geralt…because some of what you’re saying is not meant for public ears.”

Geralt nodded in compliance as he took Jaskier’s hand in his. He pressed a kiss to the back of the bard’s hand, “As you command.” 

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as he felt the brush of Geralt’s beard against the back of his hand all prickly and rough. He closed his eyes and let out another shaky breath as a shudder coursed up his arm. He felt tingly and warm all over. Jaskier had only ever _dreamed_ of such a moment as this one when he might have felt Geralt’s lips against his skin…the scruff of his beard grazing against his hand…

_'Thank you, sweet Madame Paramour! Thank you!'_

**xXx**

With their bags packed for the week at the Vegulbud mansion, they’d changed into attire more befitting of the formal occasion. Jaskier could hardly recognise himself as he turned this way and that before the mirror. A simple black dress with a few sequins here and there once again imitated the look of the shimmering ballgown. But this was much more muted in a way. What shocked him was the long brunet wig which curved and curled about his face and made Jaskier…unrecognisable. He lifted his face up and down and turned from side to side. 

_'Holy…you look like a woman! Well not, Yennefer but still. This is so weird…'_

The addition of the wig didn’t change the nervous flutter in his belly as he emerged from behind the changing screen, “Well how’s this?” Jaskier asked as Geralt turned his attention to him. 

“Fuck.”

Jaskier was not expecting that and panic bubbled to the surface again, “What! What? Geralt, be honest. What’s the matter?”   
  
“You look stunning,” Geralt said and he meant it. Though he would rather Jaskier have his hair short…that way…Geralt trailed his eyes to the bard’s neck…

“Whew you had me there!” Jaskier sighed in relief as he playfully smacked Geralt’s arm with the long black gloves, “I thought it was bad,” he muttered as he pulled on the gloves one by one. The came all the way up to his elbows, encasing his arm in soft silk. Not quite like a doublet but, it did the job. Jaskier shuffled over to his bed to grab the suitcase that he’d packed. The skirts were heavy unlike his usual breeches and Jaskier couldn’t help but sigh again.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m just thinking how utterly cumbersome it is to be a lady in a dress. I can see why Yen sticks to breeches most times. I mean look at my skirts,” Jaskier gestured as he ruffled the layers about, “By the time I start running I’d already be out of breath.” 

Geralt frowned, “Hmm.” _'What if he didn’t have to run though?'_ “I have an idea, come.” 

Jaskier obediently went and stood before Geralt, “What’s your idea?”   
  
“Lift your skirts.”

“W-w-what? Geralt, I don’t exactly think now’s the time to…excuse me!” Jaskier exclaimed. ' _Do love potions turn men into total beasts? Then again…Geralt has been known to take what he wants…when he wants them…'_

Geralt only sighed but continued with his plan. He got down on a knee before the bard and pushed Jaskier’s skirts up. Geralt cleared his throat as he met Jaskier’s eyes indicating that he should take the skirts. The bard hurried to hold onto them watching the Witcher’s bowed moon-silver head. This felt so wrong and fate was so damned cruel to have Geralt kneeling before him.

“Geralt you’re being _extremely_ scandalous right now…” 

_'What if someone were to walk in?'_

“Do you want to be safe or not?”  
  
“S-safe? How in the world is this…safe!” Jaskier gasped when he felt callused fingers running against his thigh. 

“Hmm…I didn’t peg you as the type for silken frilly lace bloomers,” Geralt teased as he quickly unfastened the dagger from his person and set to work fastening it around Jaskier’s thigh.

Jaskier went red in the face. “Shut up! It’s just to go along with the whole get up! I don’t normally wear them,” he muttered as he watched Geralt take one of his own daggers and strapped it to his thigh, tightening the straps as far as they would go. 

Geralt tested the leather tugging lightly once or twice. Satisfied, he stood up, “There, now you’d be safe. You know how to use a dagger, right?” 

“More or less,” Jaskier said as he smoothed the skirts back in place.

“Seems like the wig does wonders,” Yennefer commented as she turned up to their room with a box in hand. “I come bearing gifts for both of you.” 

“Hmm…that’s rather unlike you,” Jaskier retorted as she set the box down and opened it for them. 

“In your haste, you forgot to take this from my room. And you can’t exactly go to a masquerade without the masks, right?” 

She was right. Jaskier had been overwhelmed by the potion’s immense powers and to be honest, he felt like a pauper turned princess, finally living her dreams (albeit through magic) and spending time with the prince. Only the prince in his case is a Witcher. Jaskier examined the offerings from the sorceress. In the box sat three intricately detailed masks. A fox. A wolf and a cat mask.

Geralt silently reached for the wolf mask. Leaving Jaskier with either the cat or the fox. 

Jaskier reached for the fox mask and Yennefer cleared her throat loudly. 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and moved his hand over to the cat mask. 

Yennefer made no sound. 

“Honestly, if I’m going to pretend that I’m you, shouldn’t I be in the fox mask?” 

“I’ve altered the invitations,” Yennefer said producing two cream coloured envelopes and handing them to Geralt.

Geralt took the invitations and put them in his coat pocket, “Yen…you didn’t inform us about that.” 

Yennefer shrugged nonchalantly, “You were already dealing with a number of things. I thought I’d help you out. Smoothen your experience at the mansion,” she finished holding up a hand before breaking off into another earth-shattering sneeze. 

The sorceress wasn’t blind to the fact that things were different and Yennefer knew something had happened after their shared lunch, which, included a fake love potion and Geralt who suddenly seemed so ‘close’ to Jaskier. Apparently the Witcher’s own deductions were wrong, the love potion (which Yennefer was now beginning to question if it was truly a fake) hadn’t been meant for some lady of high society, it was meant to be for the Witcher himself.

“Jaskier, the mask?”

Geralt took the cat mask from the bard and fastened the ties of the mask behind Jaskier’s head. The mask fit him perfectly. Jaskier’s blue-grey eyes looked wonderful accentuated by the painted silver of the mask. He could already hear the rumbling of a carriage in the distance but Geralt took some time to examine his handiwork before taking their bags, “I’ll load them up and come back to get you.” 

Jaskier nodded, smiling as he watched Geralt leave. _'A week…'_

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Jaskier,” Yennefer said fixing the bard with a cool violet gaze.

Jaskier’s smile faded as he felt the fear and panic overtake him, “I’m s-sorry?” he asked, that tremor once again in his voice as his eyes went wide. 

The sorceress knew. 

Yennefer grinned devilishly, “Oh don’t look so surprised. Of course, I’d know about your little investment in a love potion.” 

“H-how? I didn’t…Yennefer please…” he whispered as he wrung his hands, “It won’t last more than a week. You can have Geralt back after.” 

The sorceress chuckled shaking her head, “I have my sources. You don’t have to worry. It’ll be our little secret.”

“And somehow I get the feeling that you’ll undo the potion when Geralt next steps back inside,” Jaskier retorted.

“How sweet,” Yennefer replied softly, “You really think I’m such a monster, don’t you? You think that I’ll rip apart your dream and leave it in shreds.” 

Jaskier looked to the ground, “Well…do you really…want to do that?” 

“And tear your only joy to pieces? I’m not that cruel so, no,” the sorceress replied scathingly as she turned her back to the bard. Outside Geralt was hailing the coach with the Vegelbud crest, the luggages set at his feet. “You know it might surprise you but I had dreams too. Once upon a time. You can’t help yourself for what you’re feeling. He’s the only person who’s seen you for who you are. And as much as he likes to play his stoic act, I know he would put himself in harm’s way to protect you.” 

Jaskier laughed nervously, “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person here? Geralt practically abhors my existence. Sing too loud and it’s, ‘Shut up Jaskier!’ or talk too much and it’s ‘I would like some peace!’” he confessed mimicking Geralt’s husky voice, “You see I…the only reason I used a love potion was so that he didn’t have to stare at me so every time we danced. Or…or look at me and wish it was you. Or tell me to be quiet because he hates my chatter. I don’t know if you know this, but it hurts to be the unseen one Yennefer.” 

The sorceress closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyes glistened. In truth, perhaps Jaskier and her might be more similar than she had thought. “You’ve known him longer than I have, bard. I’m sure you’ll have realised that Geralt’s a different person when he’s around you. Now, go, enjoy your week. You have my word I will not undo the potion.” 

Jaskier backed away from her. The sorceress’ words swimming in his head. They didn’t make sense at all. Was it really true that Geralt was different when he was around the Witcher? Jaskier had never noticed. And what sort of 'different', was it good or bad? The questions were endless! But there was no time for that now. 

“One last thing,” Yennefer said as she thumbed away a single tear before turning to face Jaskier, “If you hurt him—”

“I would never dream of it.”

The creaking of the stairs signalled Geralt’s return. 

Sorceress and bard had stopped their discussion but the room possessed an odd tension to it. 

Geralt offered his arm for Jaskier to take. 

“Come.” 

Jaskier slipped his hand into the crook of Geralt’s arm and curled his fingers around the Witcher’s bicep. 

Yennefer followed them to the door, “Good luck you two! Don’t forget to tell me how it all goes. I’ll be…waiting here in the meantime…rotting away with my sickness.”

Jaskier turned back to her. He should applaud her performance skills for the serious, dangerous Yennefer of just moments ago was no more. What she said still bothered Jaskier as he descended the stairs of the inn on Geralt’s arm. 

“You’re quiet," Geralt noted, "everything alright?”

Jaskier met Geralt’s concerned amber gaze and nodded, “Never better. I just never thought I would live to see the day I dressed up as a lady of high society and was brought to a ball as bait on a Witcher’s arm.”

“Relax you make a fine young lady,” he heard Geralt’s tease. 

But Jaskier didn’t think so. These were words…words the Witcher was saying because he was under the influence of a love potion.

Geralt handed Jaskier into the carriage and then joined the bard, choosing to sit beside him. Something had managed to change Jaskier’s mood for the worse. As the carriage pulled away from the Nowhere Inn, Geralt saw the sorceress watching them from the window of the room on the second floor. He had no doubt that Yennefer must have gone and said something. Geralt only hoped she hadn’t revealed anything and played along. There hadn’t been time to tell her his plan…perhaps she had revealed all…hence Jaskier’s distance from him. From the corner of his eye, he could just about make out Jaskier leaning against the plush cushioned wall of the carriage, gazing out at the passing scenery. He was troubled. 

Geralt watched as the trees rolled on by. The grassy plains dotted with sheep, horses grazing in the fields. He should probably break the silence. It would be right under the influence of the ‘love potion’. He should ask if Jaskier was alright, press him for an answer. And yet…

“Hey…um…Geralt?” Jaskier called, blue-grey eyes all focused on him as he shuffled closer to Geralt. 

“Hm?”

Jaskier’s cheeks coloured with a pretty blush, “Can I…um…” he cleared his throat and started again, “Can I put my head on your shoulder? I just thought I’d get a bit of rest before we reached the mansion.”

“Go ahead.” 

Geralt felt Jaskier lean up against him, hugging his arm as he rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The bard had closed his eyes and his dark lashes fanned his still flushed cheeks. 

Jaskier’s voice was near a whisper when he spoke, “Do you truly not mind this?”

“No. Not at all,” Geralt replied, “In fact, I think I might join you.” 

Geralt leaned his head against Jaskier’s hoping that his proximity might somehow absorb the bard’s sudden bout of sadness.

Yet all it did was increase that horrible feeling in Jaskier’s gut. He felt like a con-man, a cheat, and a liar. As much as he enjoyed this…the real Geralt would never have let him do such a thing. 

_'Remember Jaskier this isn’t really him…this is just the potion talking…'_


	3. Goodbye Julian & Hello Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gonna be upping the rating here and you guys will see why ;P (istg I'm so bad at rating my stuff) I did a mix of introducing some of the characters from the Witcher 3 Wild Hunt game as well so please do bear that in mind when you're reading and come across characters you haven't seen in the Netflix series. 
> 
> Other than that, Happy February everyone! Valentine's day fics are in the process of being planned so prompts are welcome. Also, I'm going to try to take part in Geraskier Week if my schedule allows it because I love their daily prompts. You can find their Tumblr online for more details!
> 
> Alright, enough from me, enjoy this chapter!

The Vegelbud Mansion was truly a sight to behold. It was a sprawling estate that consisted of lush gardens complete with their beautiful marble sculpted fountains and not one, but two garden mazes. Everyone was dressed in such finery the likes that Jaskier had only ever seen many, many years ago when he had pandered to the wishes of his father, wooing women from the upper echelons in the hopes of securing a prosperous match. Hidden behind their masks, Geralt and Jaskier passed through the crowd mostly unnoticed. They were under instructions from the servants lining the entrance to head to the grand ballroom where they would be introduced. 

Half the continent seemed to be in attendance and Jaskier felt a sudden tightening in his chest as his mind brought him to the dark recesses of his childhood. 

_'None of those godforsaken pansy colours, Julian! Formal events require a formal colour. Black. White. Grey. Navy.'_

Jaskier took a shuddery breath as he held fast to Geralt’s arm. Why those memories were resurfacing now he had no clue. Perhaps the absence from high society and his sudden re-entry tonight were stirring up the cobwebs in the recesses of his mind. 

“You alright?” Geralt husked, leaning in close to Jaskier and whispering in his ear. 

Jaskier nodded, “Perfectly fine…I just…had the horrible honour of having old ghosts visiting me.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

“Unfortunately no,” Jaskier met Geralt’s amber eyes behind the wolf’s mask, “But you’re helping enough just by being here.” 

They entered the mansion now, lit by more than half a dozen candles all flickering and glinting off their polished candelabras. Jaskier felt his stomach twisting into a nervous knot as they moved ever closer to the entrance of the ballroom that spewed loud music and bright lights from a thousand or so candles. It was strange that Jaskier could barely remember what his father looked like now. But for what it’s worth, the man had tried to curb Jaskier’s…flamboyancy and flair for the arts. When his father had had enough of his rebelliousness, Jaskier was sent off to temple school. Those days were horrible indeed and he put a stop to following the memory rabbit down the hole.

“Psst! Geralt…I don’t suppose you know any potions that stop you thinking?” Jaskier whispered as they shuffled forward, second in line to be announced. 

“I have something that might soothe your nerves, if that helps? Though it’s with the rest of our things.”

“Our…things…” Jaskier mused smiling at the way the words had so easily rolled off Geralt’s tongue. He would miss this, “Mmm…I suppose we can nip out for a bit after all the fanfare.” 

Jaskier watched as the couple before them were announced and took to the ballroom. They stood at the front of the line now and Geralt handed the two envelopes to the guard who gave them a once over and handed it to the announcer.

“Presenting Geralt of Rivia and Juliana Alfreda Pankratz, Viscountess de Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide at the liberties that Yennefer had taken to alter his name. 

“Oh Yennefer of _bloody_ Vengeburg is going to get it when we’re back at the inn! The nerve of her!” Jaskier fumed as he plastered a smile to his face and entered the grand ballroom at Geralt’s side. They were welcomed to the evening’s celebrations by the crowd to a round of applause and whispers before being ushered to the side. 

“Hmm, not too creative of her,” Geralt muttered.

“She couldn’t care less about blowing my cover,” Jaskier replied as they took a turn about the room. “So, seen any potential suspects yet?” 

“No, I doubt a casual glance will tell us. Unfortunately, we would have to…socialise.” 

“Easy for you isn’t it? Conversing with people is your specialty,” Jaskier teased. 

Geralt frowned, “I doubt it. I have a hard time putting into words what I’m thinking.”

“Is that so?” Jaskier asked as they came to a stop, “What are you thinking?” 

“I’m worried about you,” Geralt confessed and Jaskier would have melted like butter but for the sudden intrusion of a man in a stag mask. 

“Pardon my intrusion,” he said as he bowed and took Jaskier’s gloved hand, kissing the back of it, “I bid you good evening, Lady Juliana.” 

Geralt glared at the man. He had some choice words already lined up. Jaskier’s slight squeeze about his arm soothed him slightly as the bard played the part of ‘Lady Juliana’. 

“Good evening…” Jaskier trailed off as he studied the man behind the mask. He seemed familiar for some reason, like a distant memory from a long-forgotten time. 

“Hubert Rejk,” the man with the stag mask introduced himself, “Professor at the University of Oxenfurt, I teach medicine there.”

“Ah a learned man,” Jaskier mused. He knew the Professor well enough to know that he should stay well away from him. He’d come across Rejk once or twice in his time at Oxenfurt, but that was years ago, the professor must be ancient by now. 

“Forgive me but, I did not know the viscount had a sister. One who hangs around with Witcher’s too,” Hubert added giving Geralt a once over. 

_'That’s because he doesn’t. I am the viscount and the viscount is me!'_

“I am but her Ladyship’s humble escort for the week. Her father would like her well protected from any harm,” Geralt ground out.

The professor laughed heartily, “Last I heard the viscount and his family were estranged. I did not fathom it might be different with his sister.”

“I am after all papa’s favourite girl. As for my brother,” Jaskier paused, the lie did not come easy, “We cut ties with the degenerate. I haven’t seen him since.”

“A pity, he and I were well acquainted,” the professor mused with a smirk, “But we lost contact. When I heard your name, I thought perhaps you could tell me.”

_‘Alright, Rejk…let’s get this straight, it was ONE time! One kiss. I was needy and stupid and also drunk. And you technically, took advantage of the situation as I remember…’_

“Acquainted in all of the wrong ways it would seem,” Jaskier replied haughtily with a tight smile playing the part of the ever-perfect Lady Juliana.

Geralt frowned at that, hands clenching into fists. It became clear to him that this man was not only trying to weasel information out of them but trying desperately to reconnect with Jaskier. The thought did not sit well with the Witcher.

“Well, we must be going. I was telling Geralt of the Vegelbud’s beautiful gardens, we should like to visit them before Lady Vegelbud’s welcome speech,” Jaskier continued, making his excuses and leading Geralt away before the Witcher could move to attack.

“See you around then, Lady Juliana,” Hubert replied with a deep bow. 

Jaskier led Geralt away as quickly as was possible without looking like they would break into a run at any moment. His skin was crawling at the remembrance of their horrible encounter. One which, Hubert Rejk was eager to reenact it would seem. They’d have to steer clear of him now for Jaskier did not trust himself to sock the professor in the face, masked or not. 

As they emerged onto one of the balconies, soft string music greeted them. There were stairs on either side of said balcony leading down into the gardens. Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief as he planted his hands on the cool stone balustrade. The evening autumn air soothed and calm him just a bit. All about the mansion were people in masks and fine dress. How they were going to find this killer was a mystery. Surely the killer didn’t just target any and every aristocratic person…

Geralt felt the bard’s grip slip from around his arm as he went to lean against the balustrade, back towards him. He heard the sigh that escaped Jaskier’s lips and wondered again what was bothering the bard.

“Geralt?” Jaskier turned to face the Witcher now as he attempted to jump up and sit on the wide balustrade, “How do you think the killer’s going to select someone over the course of a week?” 

Geralt frowned, “I had some theories, but nothing certain.” 

Perhaps the killer fell in love at first sight and charmed the victim into obedience with a spell or some sort of love potion. That would explain why Madam Paramour’s stand had even come into question. Once he’d obtained compliance then…it was a downward spiral into the mutilation of the victim’s body. Seeing Jaskier struggling to lift himself onto the balustrade, Geralt stepped forward to help. He lifted the bard onto the stone balustrade with ease, meeting Jaskier’s blue-grey eyes when he stepped back. 

“Better?” 

Jaskier grinned, “Much, thank you,” he replied pulling off his mask and setting it beside him.

“Mmm.” Geralt stood before the bard now, boxing him in with his arms on either side of Jaskier. “I have a question for you.” 

“Go on,” Jaskier muttered as he nervously chewed his lower lip. He kept his gaze locked on Geralt’s for there was a serious look about the Witcher. 

“He know you as Julian or Jaskier?” Geralt asked feeling a hot flash of envy descend upon him. Geralt was no historian but he could tell that there had been some sort of history between his bard and the professor. Perhaps he was a possessive lover…

_‘Wouldn’t be right. That sleaze bag doesn’t seem the kind Jaskier likes…I think…’_

“Who…the professor?” Jaskier asked noticing the flash of emotion in Geralt’s eyes, “It wouldn’t be right to discuss him with you.” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher warned.

“Are you concerned?” Jaskier asked as he leaned forward, resting his arms on Geralt’s shoulders and gazing into amber eyes.

_‘Oh look at you...you wouldn’t even normally ask about this sort of thing…’_

“I am.” Geralt replied as he shifted his hands to the bard’s hips to steady him on the balustrade, or so he told himself anyway.

Jaskier hummed his acknowledgment and smiled. Tugging on the ribbon of Geralt’s mask, Jaskier unmasked the Witcher, setting the wolf mask next to his own cat mask. He pulled back just a bit, enough to play with Geralt’s moon-sliver hair. Jaskier curled a strand of it about his finger and set it behind Geralt’s ear. The crease in the Witcher’s forehead grew more pronounced as he frowned even more at Jaskier's silence. 

“Tell me,” Geralt growled before adding a, “Please.” 

_‘Note to readers: one side effect of love potions might result in jealous lovers.’_

“He’s…insignificant,” Jaskier said with a shrug, “We met at a poetry reading session one night at the tavern in Oxenfurt. He liked my reading and I was drunk…he kissed me and…I let him…” Jaskier muttered softly when he saw Geralt’s face darken and felt the grip on his waist tighten, “Hey easy there…like I said I was drunk so…you know…I obviously regretted it come the next day. He tried to pursue me to make it something more but…well…” he shrugged again, “Didn’t feel right. I finished up my studies and left Oxenfurt…started out on an adventure and then I met you…” Jaskier trailed off for despite the love potion he could not bring himself to say it to Geralt. 

_‘And it felt…right. So much more than right…’_

Jaskier found his eyes drawn to the Witcher’s lips. 

Geralt noticed it too and were this any other day he would have backed away. But he was pretending to be under the influence of a love potion. So he stood his ground as Jaskier leaned in closer, and closer still. Until they were forehead to forehead and Jaskier had his eyes closed. Geralt had followed suit. His heightened Witcher’s senses already tuning in to his surroundings. The chatter of the guests blanketed them along with their laughter and the clinking of glasses. The smooth string music wafting through the evening air. Geralt pushed that to the side. Closer to him, Jaskier’s breathing was shuddery, and the fabric of the dress shuffled as he leaned in. 

A soft whisper of a kiss ghosted against the Witcher’s lips as the Bard meekly tested the waters. 

Geralt stood still. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed someone (man or woman that is) on a mission but this was different. This wasn’t a kiss used as a disguise to steal something off a person’s body. No, it was innocent and cautious and Jaskier sighed softly when their lips met in full contact. Winding his arm about the bard’s lithe form, Geralt lifted Jaskier off the balustrade and held him close just so he could kiss him well and proper. 

He traced the outline of those sweet lips with his tongue and with the bard’s permission, plundered his mouth eagerly. Geralt hadn’t known how good it would feel to be in contact with someone else, someone he had _yearned_ for. And Jaskier was perfect, body all lean and lightly muscled pressed up against him. The bard was pliant in his arms bending to his will and crowding into the Witcher, hands twisting into his hair and tugging ever so slightly. Jaskier was responsive, very much so and by the gods when their tongues met and danced together…Geralt fought back, hand on the small of Jaskier’s back pressing him close as he wedged his thigh between Jaskier’s own. 

The bard gasped against the Witcher’s lips but pressed himself closer still. Layers of the dress be damned and all, Jaskier swore if Geralt increased the pressure…

_'We will literally be going to take a tumble in the goddamned bushes!'_

The Witcher’s lips found Jaskier’s again. This simple incident had stirred something inside him. An aching want deep in his soul. For a Witcher walked a lonely path and Geralt had never thought otherwise, always kept by the books. But sometime back when he’d first met the cheery bard, things had changed. His silences were filled by Jaskier’s chatter so much so that sometimes if the bard didn’t shut up, Geralt would have shut him up in the best way he knew how, with a kiss. Only…he hadn’t known where Jaskier had stood on that. Jaskier never spoke about himself but in these last few hours, Geralt had already discovered more things than he had while travelling with him. 

Geralt’s resolve nearly hit breaking-point when Jaskier whined softly upon being backed up against the balustrade. He was so caught up in the moment, like a leaf in a torrent of water that Geralt had already lifted Jaskier onto the balustrade again and was standing between the bard’s legs. His hands were buried underneath the soft fabrics, splayed against Jaskier’s thighs when a fanfare of trumpets followed by a loud, regal-like, “Ladies and gentlemen!” had him come back to his senses.

Jaskier pulled away first, pleasantly surprised at the turn of events and also extremely shy, “Sorry…I-I don’t know what came over me…” he whispered as he pursed his lips averting his eyes from Geralt’s calm stare. Jaskier hopped off the balustrade, smoothing down his skirts as the chill night air kissed his heated skin. Who knew Geralt would have gone from being his protector to wanting to devour him whole? He’d skipped miles ahead and Jaskier did not have a single damned complaint because he was so damned needy! 

_'Shame on you, Julian Alfred Pankratz! You little wanton minx!'_

“That was a…surprise…” Geralt commented, his voice strained. The Witcher picked up his mask, toying with the ribbons. The feel of Jaskier’s lips against his still fresh in his mind. It had left much to be desired. 

Jaskier couldn’t help but to laugh at Geralt’s confused kitten eyes, “One which you participated in wholeheartedly. Thankfully no one decided to come up by this way…would have been utterly embarrassing and—”

“It was a pleasant, welcome surprise,” Geralt said as reassured the bard who almost immediately stopped his nervous ramble and broke into a smile which lasted all but a flicker of a moment before it was gone.

“We should go,” Jaskier said replacing his mask and fastening it behind his head. He could feel the guilt gnawing at him again. Pleasant surprises were meant to feel good, not utterly horrible and inducing a great amount of guilt at having used a goddamn potion! 

_'Right. Note to readers: if you suffer from a guilty conscious perhaps don’t purchase a love potion.'_

Witcher and bard followed the rest of the crowd that was flowing towards the ballroom once more and instead of the bright lights this time, the gas lights had been dimmed and the ballroom’s chatter hushed as Lady Vegelbud took the crowd’s attention with her son and daughter at her side.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen!” Lady Vegelbud greeted the gathered crowd, "It is my greatest pleasure to welcome all of you to the annual Erasmus Vegelbud Race and Retreat. As you all may know, this event spans a week, I have prepared only the mansion’s finest rooms for all of you and my servants will be there to help you out. Many have travelled from far and wide to partake or spectate in this event. Some have come for the races, others for the grand ball. Regardless, I humbly wish you all a good time. Festivities will begin tomorrow with activities even day and dances held every night. You can find the full list of events on the card in your respective rooms. Please have an early night as I am sure that you must all be tired from your journey, otherwise continue to enjoy this evening’s affairs!”

“Well then...I suppose I’ll have an early night,” Jaskier said, making his excuse to leave. 

Geralt grabbed the bard’s arm, “I’ll join you.” 

“Not so fast,” came another voice, and they both turned to find Lady Vegelbud emerging from the crowd and coming towards them, “I would like to speak with you both for a moment.” 

They followed her off into a small side room where Lady Vegelbud offered them drinks. Jaskier declined while Geralt knocked back at least two glasses of whiskey. 

“Geralt of Rivia, you came highly recommended instead of the authorities on this matter,” Lady Vegelbud mused as she studied the Witcher, “The murders in Novigrad, you believe them to be the work of a monster?”

“Mhm.” 

“Do you know who they’re after? Or what they want?” 

“No. What we’ve gathered so far is that this creature manages to get his or her victim to do their bidding,” Geralt replied. 

“Basically…mind-control,” Jaskier added as he took a turn about the room, pausing to examine the bust of one of the Vegelbud ancestors before continuing on. 

“My Lady would you care for a seat?” Lady Vegelbud asked pointedly indicating the empty space next to Geralt on the couch opposite her. 

“No,” Jaskier replied turning to her with a smile, “thank you.” 

Conversations with the gentry had never suited Jaskier. Not when he’d lived like a bird in the cage for years. He’d sat through his father’s dry political conversations and debates with his friends coming out the worse for wear and smelling of cigarette smoke and alcohol. No fidgeting was allowed, no pacing, no prancing about the room. If Jaskier’d ever done any of those, the after-effects would be a drunken scolding. A lash or two from his father’s belt. Or a harsh punishment meted out by a wooden ruler to the back of his hands. Jaskier flexed his fingers at his side, thankfully, he’d been smart (or dumb) enough to learn how to sit still for hours building tales of fantasy and seeking escape in the worlds inside his head.

Geralt cleared his throat, calling Lady Vegelbud’s attention back to their conversation, “We’ve examined the sites of the murders. They never showed any signs of struggle so our killer must make the victim think that they’re safe and then kills them. I’m sure you’ve heard of the rest.” 

Lady Vegelbud’s face darkened as she nodded solemnly, “Indeed, the killer’s a monster. He mutilates the bodies when he’s done with them. Heart in their hands, bodies carved open,” she shakes her head, “You must catch the killer before they strike again. I will provide you with anything that you might need.” 

“I do have one request to make,” Geralt said his eyes flicking to Jaskier who was by now on the far side of the room, examining Lady Vegelbud’s small collection of books. The Witcher lowered his voice to speak. 

**xXx**

With their introductions complete, Geralt and ‘Juliana’ were met with one of the Vegelbud mansion’s staff and shown to their rooms.

“I wonder what they do with the rooms when there’s no one to stay in them,” Jaskier mused as they were led down the hallway. He had one hand curled around Geralt’s bicep the other held the ribbons of his feline mask as he gently swung it about.

“Her Ladyship keeps the rooms closed until the next event,” the manservant replied, as they took a left down a hallway. 

“Huh, I imagine the empty rooms must get lonely,” Jaskier said softly. He had certainly not thought that being back in a mansion would haunt him so. Jaskier’s home back in the day had been full of lonely rooms too. Ones he would hide in sometimes to escape the wrath of his father…or just to escape really…

They finally came to a stop outside a door and the manservant produced a key. He unlocked the door, before handing the key to Jaskier, “My Lady, this is your assigned room for the duration of your stay. Your bags have been left inside. Should you require any assistance at all, please do not hesitate to ring for help.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied as he took the heavy key in hand, “Well,” he said looking to Geralt, “This is me…I guess.” He was reluctant to let go of Geralt. 

“Mhm…” 

“Now, if you would follow me, sir,” the manservant said to Geralt. 

“You should go…” Jaskier said as he slipped his fingers from the crook of Geralt’s arm, “I’ll see you tomorrow, goodnight!” 

Geralt caught Jaskier by the elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Taking off the mask, Geralt dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the bard’s forehead, “Goodnight, my lady.” 

Jaskier felt his cheeks heat at the warm press of Geralt’s lips against his forehead. He stood for a while in a daze watching as the Witcher was led away before entering his assigned room. 

As expected. The room was cavernous and magnificently decorated. It boasted a high ceiling that was painted a dark blue with a smattering of gold and silver stars. The fireplace was already crackling with a warm fire and as the manservant had said Jaskier’s bags were at the foot of the four-postered bed with dark velvety curtains. Lady Vegelbud had clearly spared no expense on this room. 

Jaskier quickly double-locked the door and pulled up a chair to wedge under the handle of the door. 

“One can never be too safe…especially with a killer on the loose.”

But as he soon found out, there were twin doors hidden behind the drapes that led onto the room’s balcony and the horrors of the dark night along with another door set in the wall near the fireplace. Well…he hadn’t expected that at all and there were no more chairs (save for the desk chair which he would need) to put against the doors. 

_‘Hmm…I suppose I could shift the chaise longe on my own…or perhaps I could call the servants to help rearrange the room. No…they’ll probably think I’m mad!'_

“No doubt Geralt’s already sleeping like a log by now,” he muttered as he freed himself from the confines of the dress. He caught sight of the dagger strapped against his thigh, “Well at least I have you,” he muttered as he drew the blade from its sheath. It glinted in the firelight as if agreeing to protect him. Carrying the dagger about, Jaskier set about putting things in order. He unpacked his clothes and his notebook. Jaskier quickly wiped himself down at the washstand in a corner of the room before throwing on a simple long white nightshirt.

He settled down at the writing desk, dagger in tow and after a quick glance at tomorrow’s events which included tea in the garden and croquet as the highlights, he set to work on **‘A Common Person’s Guide to Using Love Potions on A Witcher’**. Jaskier was just about through writing the guilty conscience bit when he thought he saw a shadow pass in the corner of his eye. See the thing about old houses is that there was nary a house without a ghost inhabiting it. Whether they were good or bad, was an entirely different matter. The shadow seemed to pass again and Jaskier looked over his shoulder examining his room. 

Nothing seemed to be out of place in the room, nonetheless, he grabbed the dagger in one hand, readying himself. When the shadow passed for a third time, Jaskier felt relief wash over him for a second as the source of it, he realised came from the door that blended in with the wall. The shadow was simply caused by the next room’s occupant. Cautiously, Jaskier approached the door and peered through the keyhole into the room beside his. He waited for the shadow to pass again but it didn’t. His grip tightened on the dagger. 

Perhaps bedtime was in order. 

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Jaskier froze midway across the room to his bed. 

_‘Alright. We’re doomed…’_

Jaskier gulped the moment he heard the tapping sound. It came again more insistent this time from the balcony.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

_‘It’s just the wind blowing a branch of a tree…I fucking hope…’_

Jaskier padded towards the bed and the tapping came again. 

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

_‘Trees do NOT fucking knock like that!’_

“Jaskier!” 

_‘And they most certainly don’t know your name!’_

“Jaskier, open up it’s me.” 

This time he vaguely recognised the voice, “For fuck’s sake, Geralt!” he sighed as he crossed over to the balcony’s doors and pulled back the drapes to find the Witcher standing there with a lamp in his hand.

“Just to be sure you’re not a doppler or anything…put your hand on your necklace,” Jaskier said indicating the silver wolf medallion about Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt complied easily closing his fist about it and holding the medallion in the palm of his hand until Jaskier was satisfied and opened the door for him. 

“Did you happen to lose your mind after a few drinks with Lady Vegelbud?” Jaskier asked as he let Geralt in. 

“I simply thought to surprise you,” Geralt said as he glanced as Jaskier who was already prepared for bed in his nightshirt with a dagger in hand, “Would you rather I have come through the adjoining door?” he asked nodding to the one near the fireplace.

“No! I would rather you have told me that you had the room next to mine! Imagine if you’d just walked in, I could have killed you!” Jaskier snapped as he brandished Geralt’s dagger in front of the Witcher.

“You wouldn’t have,” Geralt replied taking the dagger from Jaskier and setting it on top of the writing desk. 

Jaskier frowned, folding his arms across his chest, “You don’t know that,” he grumbled. Because _how_ can Geralt be so trusting of him. Surely the love potion didn’t take away his Witcher instincts, right? “Geralt you frighted me and a man can do crazy things when he’s frightened, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if you’d gotten hurt,” he said, that last part whispered softly while staring at the Witcher’s back as Geralt went and unlocked the adjoining door, “How’d you even manage this?”

“I simply asked Lady Vegelbud,” Geralt answered as he pushed the door open, “I figured you might need me close by.” 

Jaskier met Geralt’s amber eyes at that and he pursed his lips, “Mmm...I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Geralt produced a small vial, “As promised, White Honey, should calm your thoughts and your nerves a bit.” 

Jaskier took the vial from Geralt’s frosty hands, “Thanks,” he murmured, uncorking the potion he tipped his head back and drank the sweet potion. It made him feel warm and fuzzy all over. All prior thoughts of his past seemed to be chased back into their burrows. Jaskier shuffled back towards the bed, dropping heavily onto the mattress he spread out on the covers. 

“Mmm it’s so soft!” he sighed as he stretched and moved his arms and legs making a bedsheet angel.

Geralt found a smile that made its way to his lips as he watched Jaskier. He also noticed the way Jaskier’s nightshirt made his pale knees visible and the more Jaskier shuffled about in bed…the higher his nightshirt rode up to expose his pale thighs. Geralt swallowed hard, he could not help but to stare and wonder what it might feel like to splay his hands against Jaskier’s skin again. Come to think of it, the bard had the most shapely, slender legs and when they straddled the sides of a horse…

_‘Damn it!’_

Geralt cleared his throat uncomfortably for the room seemed suddenly like a furnace.

“Get some rest. I will see you tomorrow,” Geralt said, voice strained. Even as he turned away from the portrait of temptation, it was no use, Geralt already had the image of Jaskier burned into his mind.

“No, wait!” Jaskier hurriedly propped himself up on his elbows watching as the Witcher turned back around slowly, “Will you…stay with me, Geralt?”

_'Yes.'_ Came the traitorous whisper in the back of the Witcher’s mind. But Geralt feared he might not be able to control himself…

Jaskier caught the Witcher’s eyes flick towards his exposed legs before meeting his eyes. 

He took a step forward, features darkened, “Mmm, if you’d like.” 

The Witcher’s eyes were staring in such a way that made Jaskier feel like Geralt was undressing him in his mind. _‘Good heavens…he thinks I’m trying to seduce him…well technically you are…you DID give him a love potion…and just LOOK how you’re scandalously dressed right now, young man!’_

Jaskier quickly rearranged himself, pulling the nightshirt down and getting under the covers. _‘Modesty is the best policy!’_

“You’re here just to sleep,” Jaskier told him, “A-and to protect me from killers, you know just in case they decide to break in. Nothing else! Is that clear?” 

Geralt nodded. “Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” Jaskier repeated the mantra as he lay down curled up on his side. 

Jaskier watched the room became darker. He could hear the Witcher padding about the room putting out candles in his room. There was distant noise from the neighbouring room before the footsteps came closer. Jaskier swallowed when he felt the bed sinking behind him. He felt the tug of the covers and then a warmth emanating from the Witcher that had Jaskier unconsciously shuffling backward. 

Geralt felt the slight press of Jaskier’s body against his arm. Jaskier had chosen to sleep curled up on his side, taking up the smallest space possible. It made him look vulnerable and before Geralt knew it, the words were pouring out of his mouth, “I noticed that you seemed to be on edge ever since we entered the house. Is everything alright?”

There was a moment of silence before Jaskier spoke.

“In truth…I never realised how great old mansions and high society are just…plain daunting. I mean,” and here Jaskier made a big shuffle in bed and turned about fully curling up on his right side instead, “Palaces and all that are fine I suppose but this…it cut too close to home.” 

Geralt raised a brow watching as the shadows cast from the fireplace danced about Jaskier’s face.

“You don’t really want to hear about it…” Jaskier muttered as he studied Geralt’s face, the sincerity in his eyes, “…do you?”

“I want to. Tell me.” 

Potion or not, Jaskier felt the ever-familiar tug of his heartstrings. “Well…it’s a lot to tell really…so I’ll summarise…” he whispered, “I was born into a house with social standing. A Viscount as you know it,” Jaskier said rolling his eyes at the title, “Huzzah!” he cheered half-heartedly, “I soon realised there are…things…that a person of good social standing aren’t allowed to do. You know, the usual, lying cheating, stealing and…” he paused the words stuck in his throat. 

“And?” Geralt prompted softly as he lay on his arm, watching Jaskier as the bard told his tale. 

“And being able to…freely express one’s self and…feelings…” 

The soft crackle and pop of the fire filled the room as Jaskier felt the tightening in his throat and his blurry vision. “Hoo-boy, didn’t expect that,” he muttered hurriedly swiping at his tears, “That’s all in the past now, Julian, Viscount de Lettenhove, is no more. It’s just Jaskier now. That’s who I am,” he said smiling a little. 

Jaskier froze as he felt Geralt’s warm hand move to cup his cheek, “I didn’t know,” the Witcher said, his voice seemingly gentle. The Witcher let his thumb stroke softly under Jaskier’s glistening eyes, wiping away the bard’s tears.

It only sufficed to make him tear up even more.

_'Note to readers: love potions WILL make your witcher more caring.'_

“Well now that you do,” Jaskier sniffed as he shied away from Geralt’s hand, “Don’t pity me or anything like that! I’m so much better here with you…and Yen…” Jaskier begrudgingly admitted as he stifled a yawn, blinking sleepily, “I’m just glad that you’re here,” he whispered as he snuggled closer to Geralt.

“As am I,” Geralt replied. 

This time there was no reply from the bard. Instead, Geralt could hear Jaskier’s steady breathing. It would seem that the bard had actually fallen asleep and was now snoring softly. Geralt smiled fondly as he watched over the sleeping bard. Once more, the Witcher felt a familiar ache in his chest again, this time accompanied by a fierce sense of protectiveness. As long as Geralt was there, he would protect Jaskier, this he swore. Pressing two fingers to his lips, Geralt brought them to Jaskier’s soft lips as he transferred the kiss. The Witcher’s fingers lingered longer than was necessary for he craved to relive that moment in the garden when they’d kissed. 

Geralt swallowed hard as he drew back. 

The Witcher tried to make some space between them, settling down a little ways away from the bard with his hands clasped behind his head. 

Geralt shut his eyes ready to fall asleep…

…only to feel Jaskier shuffle over in his sleep and snuggle up to his side once again.

Geralt would _try_ to sleep. 

He would try very hard indeed.


	4. The White Carnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, let me say thanks to everyone who's left a comment on this fic! I read them all and even I don't reply, thank you for taking the time to let me know that you enjoy this work. It really keeps me motivated! <3
> 
> This chapter turned out waaay longer than I expected and I was going to split it into two but then decided against it (I know fickle, fickle me) because I've already planned out future chapters...
> 
> Also, I have a soft spot for Mousesack and I wished that there was more content with him in it! While he's an old wise druid I personally imagine him to be a little romantic sweetheart so sue me~ Anyway enjoy this update!

The rules and trappings of the life at the mansion were something Geralt could never quite get used to. Two days into the program of following a scheduled life and being surrounded by members of high society and Geralt missed his usual armour and the carefree nature of life on the road. He hated the starched collars of this scratchy material and wondered how the other aristocrats wore their jackets without complaining. Everyone was leaning forward in their seats craning their necks for a good look at the four horses lined up at the starting line. As the trumpet blasted, signalling the start of the race, the riders sped away from the starting line. 

This would all be even worse if the races were held in the summer. But now that autumn’s grasp was firmly taking hold, the Witcher supposed that it was not too bad. Geralt’s eyes strayed to Jaskier still in the wig but this time sporting a demure light blue gown boasting lace patterned flowers on a gauzy material and sleeves with the most detailed of designs that covered his arms. The material merged into fingerless gloves along the backs of his hands and was bound with a simple cord about his middle fingers. Yennefer had clearly outdone herself with this one. 

_'Don’t stare.'_

But Geralt stared. 

And Jaskier caught him, smiling that sweet almost sad smile of his. 

_You should tell him. The potion is a ruse. It was fake, but everything else, that is real. My…feelings…for you…are real…'_ Geralt frowned, the thought disturbed him. Emotions are a Witcher’s greatest flaw. A weakness. To be an effective Witcher, one had to rid one’s self of emotion. Lessons he’d learned as a boy who was abandoned by his mother…add on the harsh treatments from Vesemir…and a lonely life on the road…only to be approached by Jaskier when he was clearly seeking solace and just some plain old alone time that one fateful day in the tavern at Posada. No matter how many times they parted, they somehow still found their way back to one another. Djinn or no, Geralt was beginning to wonder if perhaps, their fates were intertwined. 

“Geralt! Geralt look!” Jaskier exclaimed as he hurriedly tapped the Witcher’s arm, “Isn’t that Queen Calanthe!” he hissed the last part lest he causes a pandemonium. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes, scanning the riders as they came around the corner. Sure enough on the back of a midnight black horse, a gleeful grin on her lips and her hair braided back from her face but still wild as ever was Queen Calanthe. It was no surprise then that she pulled to a stop first at the finish line as the people cheered. 

“Do you suppose they just let her win because she’s /the/ Queen? Or because they’re afraid of her?” Jaskier whispered as they stood to cheer while Calanthe was crowned victor of the fourth and final set of races and announced to move on to the quarter-finals.

“Not sure,” Geralt replied as the crowds began to leave the stands.

“I didn’t even know _the_ Queen was here! Bet she’s glad that I’m not playing the music this time. I wonder what she thinks of the music they played for the quadrille last night, utter rubbish I’d bet,” Jaskier rambled on as he gathered his skirts and followed after Geralt. “I don’t suppose we’re to see her are we?” he asked as they descended the wooden stairs of the makeshift stands. 

“I don’t think s—”

“Geralt of Rivia! The Mighty Witcher himself!” 

'Fuck.'

Jaskier cursed softly under his breath at that familiar bellow from across the field. 

“Mousesack,” they both groaned as they plastered smiles to their faces and headed over to the druid who stood out like a beacon with his pristine golden tunic.

“How does your druid friend always manage to blow our cover?” Jaskier whispered under his breath as they cut through the dispersing crowd. He held fast to Geralt’s arm not wanting to get lost.

“Perhaps it has something to do with these horrible clothes,” Geralt complained as he tugged at his jacket collar once more.

“What exactly are we going to say about this interesting…situation?” Jaskier asked, “Me in a dress…with a wig?” 

“I don’t know,” Geralt hastily replied just before they came to stand before the druid, “Mousesack.”  
  
“Geralt!” Mousesack crowded in for a hug, taking the Witcher completely by surprise as he clapped him on the back, “Good to see you, old friend.” 

“Likewise,” Geralt replied stoically. 

Mousesack chuckled, and then stopped short as he took in the beautiful brunet beside Geralt, “And who is this beauty?” he asked taking both of Jaskier’s hands in his, grey eyes lighting up almost immediately. If love at first sight had a look, well…that was exactly how it looked like.

_'Oh no! Nonononono. He better not kiss your goddamn hands!'_

Jaskier panicked, “AaaahhhI-I’m with Geralt!” he squeaked as he pulled his hands away from the druid and hid them behind his back with a smile. 

“With…Geralt?” Mousesack’s brow furrowed as he looked to Geralt wide-eyed, before quickly steering his friend aside. 

Jaskier heaved a sigh as he watched the two of them heads bent together and speaking in hushed tones. Worry creased his forehead, “With Geralt? Are you a fool! What do you mean ‘with Geralt’?” he muttered to himself as he put his head in his hands, “Can’t believe you did that,” he lamented as he smacked his lips a couple times for good measure. “With Geralt…” he laughed scathingly, “Only reason you’re even with him is because of a bloody potion.” 

“You didn’t tell me that you’ve gone and got hitched now. Who is she? Where’s she from? And why are you here at the Vegelbud’s Mansion? Last I heard you were running around with a sorceress not…” Mousesack turned to look back at the gorgeous brunet woman in the blue dress with white lace trimmings, “…a beautiful…what is she?” 

Geralt scowled, “What do you mean what is she? A human. A viscountess,” he ground out angered at the thought that Mousesack might have thought the bard to be some _thing_ else. 

Mousesack seemed to look relieved, “Does she have a name?” 

“Juliana.” 

“Juliana,” Mousesack hummed, testing the name out on his tongue, “And where’d you meet the lass?” 

“A tavern.”

Mousesack nodded sagely, “She…have any sisters?” 

“No,” Geralt replied sternly, “Mousesack, I’m not…going to play matchmaker and set you up. She and I…we’re here together. On a mission. You’ve heard of the murders in Novigrad. We’re hunting the killer.” 

“You and her?” Mousesack looked stunned, “Where’s the boy? Jaskier the bard?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Geralt replied mysteriously. 

“Chasing after another woman’s skirts huh.” 

_'He’s in one right now.'_ But Geralt let the druid think what he liked.

“One last question,” Mousesack said as he held up a hand to signal for Queen Calanthe to come over.

“Make it quick,” Geralt replied as he saw Queen Calanthe headed towards them on the arm of one Eist Tuirseach, her husband and the King.

“Did you marry her?” Mousesack asked nodding in the direction of one dressed up bard.

“No...but—”

“That’s all I need to know!” he chuckled.

“Mousesack!” Geralt growled just shy of gripping the druid by his golden tunic and dragging him back. He failed and Geralt would have gone after him but it would be rude to turn his back on the Queen so he could only watch as the druid struck up a conversation with Jaskier.

“Geralt of Rivia, fancy meeting you here,” Calanthe greeted.

Geralt nodded to them both, “Your Majesties.”

“Go on ask him,” Eist whispered to his wife.

“What would you like to ask?” 

Calanthe grinned, “Your marriage. Eist says you came with a woman. He saw the both of you at the garden tea party yesterday. So, where is, said fair maiden?” 

“Follow me,” Geralt replied as he used this chance to lead them over to Mousesack and Jaskier.

“...see I was telling Geralt that if the two of you aren’t—“

“Mousesack,” Geralt ground out as he clamped a hand on the druid’s shoulder drawing him back, “the Queen and King would like to meet Lady Juliana.” He continued wedging himself between the druid and Jaskier. 

It seemed like it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. For with Mousesack’s enthused questions and overly interested smiles coming to an end, Jaskier was met by the Queen whom he had only served from afar once, playing at her court years ago. He was probably too insignificant a person for the Queen to remember but Jaskier felt the nervous knots in his gut start to tighten, winding tighter and tighter. 

“She is a beauty indeed,” Calanthe mused examining Jaskier in the dress, “I see my Eist spoke the truth.”

“Greetings, Your Majesties,” Jaskier said as he dropped a rather shaky curtsey.

“Rise,” Calanthe said taking Jaskier’s hand and helping him up, “I can’t help but think that we’ve met before…” 

“I-I…don’t suppose so. I would have had the honour of remembering your presence, Your Majesty,” Jaskier replied as calmly as possible. _'Shit!'_

“Juliana prefers the comforts of the home,” Geralt intervened as he slipped his arm about Jaskier’s waist, pulling the bard to his side in a show of possession, “We aren’t married, yet but…”

 _'Married…'_ Jaskier felt the world fade out around him as he eyed Geralt. _'Me? Married to a Witcher…impossible…Geralt would never…'_

“Lady Juliana, perhaps you would grace the guests this evening with a song?” Queen Calanthe asked. 

“I-I’m sure I can think of something…if you’d like?” 

“Good. I shall inform Lady Vegelbud that you will sing something for us tonight then.”  
  
Jaskier nodded smiling as Queen Calanthe, King Eist and the druid Mousesack left them. 

_‘Great. Just what kind of trouble have you signed up for this time?’_

**xXx**

“I feel so stupid!” Jaskier laments as he sinks into the warm waters in the wooden tub. Upon hearing that ‘Lady Juliana’ was to be participating in the line-up of entertainment tonight at Queen Calanthe’s request, Lady Vegelbud had sent a bath up to the room. 

The warm water was supposedly to calm him before the performance, but at present, it was doing nothing of the sort. “I don’t suppose I can back out of my agreement right now, can I?” he sighed, shifting so that his legs hung out of the tub, “Oh…Calanthe will have my head…Geralt? Geralt, you aren’t even listening to me now, are you?”

“Mmm, I heard you,” Geralt replied, as he cautiously flipped through an intriguing few scraps of parchment that seemed to have been torn out of a notebook. They were titled, **‘A Common Person’s Guide to Using Love Potions on A Witcher’** and Jaskier had apparently left them out yesterday night. The poor bard was dealing with one too many things this evening, “I’m sure if you ask nicely, Mousesack would be willing to persuade her,” Geralt teased as he eyed the changing screen behind which sat Jaskier in a hot bath.

“No! No way am I going to do that! I half wish I could just tell him who I am,” Jaskier groaned, “Then we’ll see if he’s still interested.” 

“Mmm…”

Geralt’s eyes scanned Jaskier’s cursive script and caught on to point number seven under the header ‘Warnings & Side Effects’

_‘While love potions can make your Witcher more emotive, do note that they might also result in making your Witcher more sexually aggressive.’_

_‘That is not true…’_

There was an additional note scribbled in the corner, _‘Possibly? Unconfirmed. Only one instance of a sudden attack in the garden.'_

Geralt set the parchments back down on the desk as he heard Jaskier getting out of the tub. Adjusting the desk chair’s position, he closed his eyes pretending to be deep in meditation.

Jaskier rounded the changing screen to find the Witcher with his eyes closed facing the direction of the changing screen. 

_'Creepy...OH SHIT MY NOTES!'_

“Hey shouldn’t you be dressing up already?” Jaskier asked as he quickly padded across the room.

_‘There they are!!!’_

Jaskier leaned over Geralt and stuffed the notes back into his notebook.

_'Safe!’_

Geralt could smell Jaskier, that sweet, heady scent wafting off him again and he cracked an eye open to find the bard leaning over him. _'Perhaps Jaskier is right…’_ Geralt thought as his eyes were drawn to the bard’s exposed chest while the bathrobe hung open seductively. The Witcher felt that it was his duty to aid in Jaskier’s research. So he wrapped his arms around the bard’s waist and nuzzled against Jaskier’s bare chest.

“Wh-whaahhhey! Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed as he froze in the Witcher’s sudden assault, “Whatthedevilareyoudoing?” he squeaked arms raised in surrender and just short of flailing about.

Geralt took a deep, long breath, drawing his nose against the bard’s bare skin, “Hmm?” he hummed, acting all innocent.

Jaskier shuddered at the feel of Geralt’s stubble chafing against his bare chest, “W-we have to…get ready…soon…” 

Geralt lifted his head now, bristly chin resting against Jaskier’s chest. The Witcher’s amber eyes blinked lazily up at Jaskier, “I know. But you smell good,” Geralt replied his voice gravelly, as he pressed his nose against Jaskier’s soft skin and took another deep breath for emphasis, “I thought I might appreciate you for a moment or two.” 

Jaskier laughed nervously, “S-sure…” he swallowed hard as he pursed his lips, stifling a little whimper as the Witcher’s lips began to press soft kisses against his bare chest. Jaskier dared to tangle his hands in Geralt’s moon-silver hair once more, closing his eyes as he gave in to his sinful desires for a moment. He let Geralt hold him as he leaned into the Witcher’s hard body, eyes closed and revelling in the moment.

Geralt bit and nipped at the bard’s exposed flesh. Gripping one side of the silken material of the robe in his teeth, he met Jaskier’s darkened blue-grey eyes. A silent request for permission. Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed red, lips plump and parted. His tongue darted out in a flash of pink as he licked his lips.

_‘Don’t you dare!’_

Geralt smirked about the cloth, _‘I dare.’_

Geralt tugged at the silken bathrobe and it slipped off Jaskier’s shoulder exposing the left side of his chest. Jaskier drew in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as Geralt’s callused hand smoothed up against his chest. The Witcher watched him eagerly as he flicked his thumb over Jaskier’s dusky nipple. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut as a soft sigh was drawn from his lips. 

“You like that?” 

“Mmmn…oh y-yes, Geralt!”

Geralt smiled at the bard’s breathy confession. The Witcher didn’t know what overcame him but right now he wanted to please Jaskier, wanted to make him cry out in pleasure. He flicked his finger over Jaskier’s nipple again this time thumbing it in circles and watching it bloom in a tight nub. The Witcher kept his eyes locked with Jaskier’s waiting for the moment he would come undone, he pinched the tight nub then softly tweaked it between thumb and forefinger. 

“Nnggh Geralt…” Jaskier begged as he arched against the Witcher’s body. There was no way that _any_ normal person, let alone a defenceless bard dressed in a silken bathrobe could have repelled the effects of the Witcher’s ministrations. Jaskier felt a heavy, hot need beginning to grow down south between his legs and he pressed closer to Geralt rubbing up against the Witcher like a cat in heat. 

Geralt’s own trousers had grown uncomfortably tight just hearing the noises that he elicited from Jaskier’s beautiful mouth. Perhaps, he needed to provide more evidence for the sake of Jaskier’s planned book. In the name of the bard’s need for a more extensive research, Geralt pulled Jaskier down into his lap, letting those slender legs wrap about him in the way that he had so often (in the last couple of days and perhaps…even long before) thought about. 

Jaskier grinded up against Geralt, hips working to chase the pleasure that the friction between their bodies had wrought. Geralt dipped his head to Jaskier’s neck breathing in his freshly bathed scent, he sighed contentedly kissing Jaskier’s skin, “Mmm this scent…you…” he half-growled dragging his incisors against the bard’s jugular, “Vampires would kill for this…as would I,” Geralt husked, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s heated skin and sucking on it. 

“No marks!” Jaskier gasped as he tugged harshly on Geralt’s long hair causing the Witcher to growl in protest.

“Fine,” the Witcher ground out complying with the bard’s wishes as he shifted so he had better access to Jaskier’s chest. Geralt pressed open-mouthed kisses to the bard’s chest, farther and farther his tongue wandered until it flicked against the bard’s nipple and then he sucked, hard. 

“Oh fuck! F-Fuck Geralt!” Jaskier keened as he fisted his hands in Geralt’s hair curling into Geralt as the Witcher tongues his nipple, toying with it. With all this stimulation…his cock ached something bad and Jaskier held on to Geralt for dear fucking life. _‘Don’t touch yourself! Don’t…don’t you dare!'_

Jaskier could feel Geralt’s manhood straining against the Witcher’s trousers as well and he was nothing but delighted to know that the Witcher was getting off on this too.

It wasn’t until Geralt reaches between their bodies, pulled at the sash and smoothed the other side of the robe off of his shoulder that Jaskier came to his senses. _‘We have to stop…’_

Geralt did not want to stop. He felt Jaskier’s fingers winding in his hair, practically begging for him to stop. But damn it all. Jaskier could correct it in his new book: Witcher’s under the influence of love potions were barbarians and could not be sated until they’ve had their fill. So touch starved had Geralt been until now. Now when his senses were all alive and filled with Jaskier. It would be utterly stupid for Geralt to give up that easily and so he resisted Jaskier’s tugging. Choosing instead to slant his lips over the bard’s and plunder Jaskier’s mouth with his tongue. 

Jaskier moaned into the kiss as he was drawn up against Geralt. The Witcher’s large hands settled on his hips and pressed him closer. The rough material of Geralt’s clothes chafes against his naked body and his prick and Jaskier had to put a stop to this lest he actually came undone. 

“P-Please” he gasped between kisses, “Geralt…please…stop...I...I can’t…” he panted, out of breath, “Not now…not yet…” 

“Why?” 

Jaskier eyed the damage between their bodies. Surely that was explanation enough. Geralt’s cock was straining defiantly against his pants so much so that Jaskier could see the very outline of it. And his own shaft was ramrod straight, dripping pearly white precum that had stained his belly and Geralt’s tunic. 

“I…um…I…” _'I want this to be real, not an act induced by love potions’_ the rest of the words whispered in his head. 

Instead, “I think _this_ is reason enough, don’t you?” he asked indicating their current states.

Geralt smirked, making Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, “You’re already halfway,” he husked as he leaned forehead to forehead with Jaskier, “Are you sure you want me to stop?” 

“I…” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth… _'No...yes…no?’_ He couldn’t for the love of him decide!

The Witcher let his hand curl about Jaskier’s prick now. Hoping to entice him, Geralt gave the bard’s cock a cursory pump or two that had the bard gasping and pressing back against his forehead eyes closed.

“Geralt…no…” Jaskier whined feeling all fluttery inside when the Witcher touched him like this. No one had ever done this. No one had ever touched him so intimately.

“I could help you relieve the…tension,” Geralt spoke purposefully slow as he traced the thick vein on the underside of Jaskier’s shaft, “I believe that it would make you feel more at ease.”

“I-I am relaxed…” Jaskier stuttered through his lie drawing a shaky breath. 

“Liar,” Geralt’s voice was harsh, raking over Jaskier’s skin and making the bard whimper as the Witcher’s finger circled and then dipped into the slit at the head of Jaskier’s cock, spreading the precum about his cock head. 

“But the entertainment…we’ll be late…” Jaskier whispered as he melted into Geralt’s shoulder burying his face in embarrassment as he succumbs to the Witcher’s punishment, “I have to sing for them.”

 _'Blame the love potion,’_ came the convenient excuse in the Witcher’s head. It was the perfect excuse. “It can wait. We have something more important to take care of.” 

But it could not wait.

A loud knock on the door signalled that their time was up and before anyone could intrude, Geralt shielded Jaskier from view.

“Get out,” the Witcher growled.

“Oh my!” the manservant exclaimed turning about immediately, “Terribly sorry, Sir Geralt, but the lady of the house is looking for Lady Juliana.”

“Why? Have the performances started?”

“Um…yes. Yes, Sir they have. And it appears that they had to delay the Lady’s performance to the final event for the evening too.”

“Mmm. We’ll get ready.” 

“Of course sir.”

After the manservant left the room, Jaskier and Geralt pull apart. The bard’s all flustered by what had happened and he rights himself, pulling the robe on properly and picking up the sash from the floor. They wouldn’t be able to finish it would seem and Jaskier regretted it. Part of him wishes that he hadn’t agreed to the Queen’s request in the first place. 

“I suppose we should hurry,” Geralt muttered. 

“I told you so.”

“Mmm…I should have listened.” 

“Yes…you should have.” 

**xXx**

The Witcher and the bard made their respective changes of clothes. One struggling to get into clothes while the other struggled out of clothes. When they finally met back in Jaskier’s room, dressed to the nines, Geralt held out a small vial as a peace offering, “Something to…calm your body…” 

Jaskier eyed the Witcher, “Did you…take it as well?” 

Geralt nodded, “Took two,” he muttered clearing his throat uncomfortably. 

“Huh…” Jaskier’s eyes darted quickly to the front of the Witcher’s trousers. Seemingly convinced, Jaskier quickly consumed the vial’s contents, making a face at the sour after-taste. “What is _in_ this thing?”

Geralt shrugged, “Herbs. Ready?” he asked. 

“Not sure…do I look ready?” Jaskier asked as he wiggled his fingers, gesturing to the burgundy and silver patterned gown with the matching pair of lacy burgundy fingerless gloves. 

“Hmm…not quite,” Geralt disappeared back across the adjoining door to his room and returned with a white flower in his hand, “Dagger?” 

Jaskier lifted his skirts to pull out the dagger for him and the Witcher cut the stem of the flower short before setting the single blossom behind Jaskier’s ear. 

“There, perfect,” Geralt mused examining his handiwork. 

“You know flowers have meanings,” Jaskier replied as he slipped the dagger back into the sheath strapped about his thigh, shifting the skirts back in place to cover it.

“Mhm. Hence the white carnation.” 

**xXx**

As it turned out they were separated at the entrance to the ballroom which had been converted into a sort of mini-theatre complete with a stage and curtains that could be drawn. There were rows upon rows of seats their occupants currently glued to the intriguing play on stage. Jaskier felt a wrenching fear in his gut as the guard signalled for Jaskier to follow him. 

“Geralt, wait!” he held fast to the Witcher’s arm. 

_'I can’t do this!'_

Amber eyes softened as the Witcher leaned in to kiss Jaskier’s forehead, “I believe in you,” Geralt whispered softly, reassuring Jaskier, “You will do great.”

“And if I don’t…I’ll most probably get beheaded, right?” Jaskier laughed nervously.

“Queen Calanthe will not lay a finger on my bard.”

The rounds of resounding applause cut their moment short. With a final lingering look at Geralt, Jaskier was whisked backstage where he twiddled the white carnation blossom in his fingers. He honestly had no idea what song he should even sing. He’d never had an audience this huge and if anything, they usually ended up booing him and tossing their lunches at him, bread, lettuce and all. 

Lady Vegelbud was just welcoming the acting troupe off the stage now and when she spotted Jaskier she made her excuses and broke away from them, approaching him, “I was informed that Geralt was holding you up.” 

_‘Oh lady, you have no idea!’_

“Well actually it was a minor inconvenience, you see, corsets,” Jaskier said with a little shrug as though that would explain everything. Apparently it did for Lady Vegelbud pushed no further.

“Now, I know Queen Calanthe requested that you sing for us this evening at quite the last moment,” Lady Vegelbud offered a sympathetic look, “Are you still keen on that? Or shall we simply call it a night?”

“One never goes back on one’s promise to the Queen,” Jaskier replied, “Though honestly, I have no clue what I should even be singing about.”

“Anything you’d like really,” Lady Vegelbud assured him, “Will you need anything for your performance.” 

Jaskier looked around the backstage area, “Well…I would be grateful if you had a lute anywhere lying around.”

“We could wheel out a piano for you, Lady Juliana.” 

_'How typical!'_

“No thank you a lute will do me just fine.”

Lady Vegelbud shrugged and went to relay the request to a manservant who came over to Jaskier and presented him with an intricately carved dark wooden lute complete with silver etchings set in the wood. “I don’t suppose I can keep this afterwards?” he asked the guard who simply shrugged and walked off. 

Jaskier fitted the carnation behind his ear once more. _‘I wonder what a white carnation even means…perhaps Lady Vegelbud might have a book on the language of flowers in her collection…’_ Fingers curled about the neck of the lute, Jaskier felt slightly relieved for he now had a familiar instrument and at least an array of songs he knew offhand. 

From the wings of the makeshift stage he watches as the curtains open and Lady Vegelbud announces his act telling the guests that ‘Lady Juliana’ will be performing a surprise song for them.

And then she’s looking towards the wings. 

Jaskier takes a moment to breathe before he steps out onto the stage. A sea of applauding people stare back at him and Jaskier clears his throat as the audience settles in, “Well…um…” 

_'Channel your inner Lady Juliana for heaven’s sake!'_

“Good evening, one and all,” Jaskier begins again with what he hopes is a warm smile, “Forgive my tardiness but I was rather caught up,” here he catches Geralt’s eyes and a flash of teeth as the Witcher grins, “At Queen Calanthe’s request, I have decided to sing a song which…is something I wrote a while back. Firstly, you must forgive my voice, it’s been a little off lately and secondly, I’ve barely performed this song in front of anyone so you can consider this the premiere of Her Sweet Kiss.” 

Jaskier’s eyes flick to Geralt making sure that the Witcher is paying attention before he begins. 

_‘Here goes nothing.’_

Jaskier lets his fingers strum over the lute, closing his eyes as the melody envelopes him. He begins to sing the song that he’d written as a cautionary tale to Geralt.

It was many things woven into one. A plea for the Witcher to end his relationship with the sorceress that he was so enamoured with before he got hurt. A cry for the Witcher to notice him. And more than anything, it was an avenue to direct his unrequited feelings for the Witcher. As he sang, Jaskier remembered the feelings he’d felt, the hatred, the rage, the sorrow. They were emotions directed at Yennefer, at Geralt and at himself. 

Jaskier called to mind the unfairness of the situation every time the sorceress was around. Yennefer the intruder. For every time she was there, Geralt barely took notice of him. She who is born of the goddesses. She with the beautiful lilac eyes. His own blue-grey ones must have paled in comparison. She who is cunning enough to have stolen Geralt from him. She who is smart, resourceful, powerful. Everything that he is not. All Yennefer had to do was to simply be present in the room and Geralt would look for her. Jaskier would pale in comparison. It was times like these when they got into arguments and Jaskier would retreat into himself, longing for the Witcher to wake up, to realise…that he loved him as more than just a friend.

He loved as a lover would, full of passion, heartache and lust. 

Jaskier remembered the nights he’d spent awake and unable to sleep when the two had made passionate love. He never wanted to come between them. Never wanted to make Geralt choose and so he suffered in silence, accepting his fate and living in the shadows. He had vowed to be satisfied with whatever little emotions he could get from Geralt, whatever moments they shared. It was all just so he could be with Geralt a little while longer, even if it meant being hurt in the process.

As the last notes were plucked from the lute, Jaskier realised that his vision had gotten all blurry and his throat was tight. A resounding round of applause was heard along with cheers and whistles. Quickly Jaskier dropped a curtsey and heads backstage. He’d certainly put his all into this performance.

In the ballroom, not a dry eye was seen. Ladies dabbed at their eyes with their little laced handkerchiefs and men were discreetly thumbing away their tears, still trying to put on a brave front. Geralt knew the song was directed at him and written for him. Who could have known just how strongly Jaskier had felt for him? All this time and the bard had never said a word. Geralt too knew he was to blame. For even after breaking things off with Yennefer…he hadn’t told Jaskier.

Elsewhere, a figure in a fox mask chuckles glad that it had caught this performance. It slinks back into the shadows, opens a portal and disappears.

**xXx**

_'Oh you are a wimp! And a crybaby too!'_

Jaskier tries to get his emotions under control before he leaves the safety of the backstage but it is a challenge. 

“Lady Juliana!” 

A crowd had gathered to wait for ‘Lady Juliana’ at the backstage area.

“That was beautiful.” “Incredible.” “Amazing!”

Jaskier smiles and nods his thanks as politely as possible all the while struggling towards the door. What he needs right now is to be alone for he is just not able to deal with looking at Geralt at present. 

**xXx**

“She’s quite the nightingale, huh?” Mousesack sighs like a lovesick fool, “I envy you.” 

Once again, Geralt finds himself stuck in the company of the druid who is singing Jaskier’s praises none the wiser that the woman known as Lady Juliana, is in fact the bard himself. 

“First the sorceress, now her…did you tell her about your sorceress lovers?” 

“No.” Geralt didn’t have to tell Jaskier about Yennefer. The bard had been there.

“Your Majesty don’t you think Lady Juliana was amazing?” Mousesack asked.

Queen Calanthe nodded arm in arm with Eist, “I quite agree. She was most intriguing, right Geralt?” she asked pointedly this time. 

Geralt met the Queen’s gaze. _'She knows.'_ They hadn’t fooled her.

Queen Calanthe smiles back gently, clearly glad at managing to render Geralt speechless, “I suggest you treasure her. Before you lose her.” 

The crowd finally began to thin out as they approached the dining hall. Much of it had been converted into a dancing area with tables lining the sides of the room laden high with food. A number of the servers were also making their rounds offering drinks to the guests. 

“There she is! She’s signalling to us. Geralt, come with me. I must congratulate her,” Mousesack who had been on the lookout for Lady Juliana exclaimed, dragging the Witcher along with him. 

**xXx**

Jaskier had downed what, five? Six? Six drinks. 'Actually…perhaps that was seven…' He felt warm and fuzzy all over but his thoughts were still miles and miles ahead. He waved over a server hoping to get more drinks and drown out his thoughts but as they neared, he frowned, squinting at them…

Mousesack and Geralt. The very two people he had clearly been trying to avoid. 

“Oh it’s you two…” 

“Allow me to congratulate you, Lady Juliana,” Mousesack said as he made a rose appear from thin air, “A cheap party trick, but…I do hope that you will accept it.” 

“I don’t think she’s in any state to accept anything,” Geralt ground out. He knew instantly that the bard had had too much to drink. The Witcher could smell the alcohol that clung to him and the bard’s rosy cheeks more than gave him away. Perhaps jealousy gnawed at the Witcher as well for Mousesack’s romantic gesture greatly displeased him.

Jaskier of course, accepted the rose laughing bitterly, “A rose…how…how…” 

_'What the devil is that word?'_

_'Generic.'_ Geralt thinks. “Nice,” he finishes for the bard instead as he steadies Jaskier. 

But the bard pulls away from him, “Don’t!…” Jaskier snaps jabbing a finger against Geralt’s chest for emphasis, “Don’t you touch me…you witchy-Witcher you…” then he turns to Mousesack, “You,” he points a finger at the druid, “I meant to say…stupid…” he stumbles and grips onto Mousesack’s arm, “You. Are. Stupid,” he half slurs, “Don’t you realise? Can’t you see who I am!” 

“Juliana…not now…” Geralt warned as he gently prises Jaskier off the confused druid’s arm, “Don’t mind her Mousesack, she’s drunk.” 

“I am not! Drunk!” Jaskier snaps, yanking his arm away from the annoying Witcher once more, “I told you not to _touch_ me.” He turns back to Mousesack, “You _know_ who I am!” 

Jaskier takes off the wig glaring at Mousesack, “Sur-fucking-prise, druid. It’s me.” 

“Wait…” Mousesack’s eyes grow wide as saucers, “Jaskier the bard?” he whispers in horror. 

Jaskier gives a flourishing bow, “At your service,” he snarks before slapping the wig back atop his head and not caring if it was askew or not, “I bid you, gentlemen, good eve!” he snaps and then storms off. 

Mousesack and Geralt stood frozen in place shocked at Jaskier’s outburst. 

“Geralt…what…what was that?” Mousesack asked as he looked to the Witcher. 

“An angry bard who just blew his own cover in a tantrum,” Geralt sighed, “I’ll handle it Mousesack, you just…make sure that no one else remembers this.” 

Mousesack snapped his fingers, “Easily done, my friend.”

**xXx**

Jaskier ran as fast as he could from the dining hall. Hot tears streaming down his face as he swiped angrily at them.

_'Stupid heart, you were a fool to have fallen for him!'_

So caught up in the torrent of sorrow and anger was he that Jaskier did not see the Professor coming his way and collided right into him. 

“I’m so sorry miss,” Hubert apologises as he steadies the woman, “Oh! Lady Juliana?” he asks as he realises who he’s had the pleasure of catching, “I did not expect to see you here.” 

“I’m not in the mood right now Professor,” Jaskier snaps trying to fight the larger man, “I would like to be on my way now.” 

Hubert’s hands tightened on Jaskier’s arms, “I just wanted to have a few words with you, is all.” 

“Ow! You’re hurting me,” Jaskier hissed, “Let. Me. Go. Now!” 

The grip on his arm lightens and the Professor smirks, “I’m sorry…I…forgot how sensitive you are. I have missed you. The feel of your lips…” he leans horribly close, his breathing already ragged no doubt already living his sinful thoughts. 

Jaskier gulps. 

_'Keep him talking. You just keep him talking long enough...'_

“I don’t miss you. I never even thought of you.” 

Gingerly, Jaskier tries to lift his skirts to reach for the dagger. 

“In fact, I was glad to leave Oxenfuragghhhh!” 

Jaskier’s wrist was slammed against the wall before he could even reach Geralt’s dagger, “Don’t…play tricks with me, my lady,” Hubert mocked, “I was being serious about you, Jaskier.” 

“That’s enough.”

 _'Geralt!'_ Jaskier’s heart leapt with joy at the sound of that familiar husky tone.

“Hands off my bard. Now.” 

Hubert did not move an inch. 

“I believe he said no,” Geralt approached slowly, a dangerous glint in his amber eyes. 

“Ah, the Witcher,” Hubert greeted, “Geralt of Rivia was it? Not enjoying the feast?” 

“I was, right until the moment I wasn’t. I came to get my bard,” Geralt spoke, voice dangerously low as he neared them. 

“All yours,” Hubert chuckled as he backed away from them, hands held up in defeat, “See you around.”

Jaskier sagged against the wall, feeling his legs give out under him. The events of the night were too overwhelming for his addled mind and he broke down, sinking to the floor in tears.

“Why is it…” Jaskier sobbed, “…every time I find myself in tears these days, it’s you, holding bloody onions up to my eyes!” 

And then he sobbed even more. _'That sounded way better in my head!'_

“Bloody fucking hell!” Jaskier exclaimed putting his head in his hands as the full waterworks burst forth from behind their floodgates. 

_'He’s crying…fuck. What do I do?’_ Geralt is at a loss for words. He wants to comfort Jaskier but he doesn’t exactly know how to go about doing that. It wasn’t like they taught you how to comfort monsters in Witcher school. So Geralt tried, “Jaskier you…shouldn’t be sitting here crying.”

“Where else do I have to go, Geralt?” Jaskier yelled, “Where? Tell me!” He sniffs looking a piteous mess.

“You cant’t just sit here in the hallway and cry for hours,” Geralt says softly, “You’re going to tire yourself out, Jaskier.” 

“Already doing that! You can’t stop me, Witcher!” Jaskier snarked as he glared at Geralt like a five-year-old would, sporting a furious pout. 

“Don’t mind her, she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Geralt tells a passing guest as they turn to stare at Jaskier in a pile of fabric on the floor. They would no doubt think that he’d gone and done something bad to ‘her’. Geralt sighed bending down to Jaskier’s level now, “Look, you’re drunk and tired. Do you want to go back? I’ll bring you back to the room, alright?”

Jaskier shakes his head vehemently, “No! Don’t tell me what I am or am not! I don’t want to go back!” 

But the Witcher just sighs and scoops the bard up into his arms in a princess carry, “You don’t have a choice,” he said with finality in his tone, “Since you want to behave like a child I’m going to treat you like one. We’re going back. Understand?” 

Jaskier’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to reply. 

“I won’t hesitate to drop you if you don’t comply,” Geralt threatened. 

The threat was enough to make Jaskier hurriedly wrapped his arms about Geralt’s neck, “Fine. You win!” 

Geralt feels the bard resting his head against his shoulder. Jaskier remains quiet for the entirety of the journey back to the room. 

**xXx**

Jaskier must have fallen asleep for the next thing knows is that he’s being lowered onto the bed. He’s awake now and Jaskier holds fast to Geralt’s hand before the Witcher could leave, silently stares up into amber eyes. Jaskier cautiously brings the Witcher’s hand to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against Geralt’s skin before running his lips against the back of the Witcher’s hands. These hands which had slain monsters. These hands which had seen bloodshed. These hands which had held him so gently and burned into his flesh this afternoon…

Looking up at Geralt coyly through his lashes, Jaskier kisses each knuckle reverently letting his tongue flick softly against each one before taking Geralt’s forefinger into his mouth. He sucks softly on the Witcher’s finger and moans in protest when Geralt pulls away, replacing it instead with the soft pad of his thumb. The Witcher pressed down softly against Jaskier’s tongue making the bard whine about his finger. Geralt retracts his thumb, tracing the saliva slick digit down Jaskier’s neck where he lets his hand rest against the bard’s throat, feeling the rapid fluttering of Jaskier’s pulse. 

Geralt stops there, torn between pushing Jaskier back down in bed and joining him or walking away. If he went any further he would be taking advantage of the situation. The bard was drunk. ‘And clearly needy.’ Jaskier was looking at him expectantly as though pleading him. Geralt sighed, pushing the thoughts out of his mind, “You should rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow,” he tells the bard as he goes to remove the dainty shoes before lifting Jaskier’s skirts part way to roll down the stockings as well. 

Many thoughts were roiling through Jaskier’s mind as he watched the Witcher remove the dagger and the harness from around his thigh, setting them aside. Was he not attractive enough that Geralt would choose not to sleep with him? Did it mean nothing to undress him now? Also what happened on stage? One moment he was singing caught up in the song and the next? The tears had flown freely.

Geralt’s deft fingers quickly unlaced the corset and for the second time that day, the Witcher saw Jaskier’s pale skin. This time marred by the angry red impressions left by the corset. Pulling off the wig and running his hands through Jaskier’s short hair to comb it out, he helped the bard into the nightgown then sat him back down in bed. Going to the washstand, Geralt wet a cloth and came back over to wipe the bard’s face, taking special care as he gently wiped the cloth about the bard’s closed eyes. 

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, Geralt was wiping down his arms and hands slowly, carefully. No one had ever cared for him like this, in the way Geralt was caring for him now. Maybe the alcohol was to blame but in that moment Jaskier understood something. It wasn’t the grand gestures that he wanted. It was the little things. The quiet moments that he’d spent with Geralt that he loved. He’d fallen in love! And he was in love with the wrong person because it was Geralt of all people. 

“I…I…love you,” Jaskier confessed softly feeling the words hanging in the air between them. 

Geralt finishes tending to Jaskier and he steps back now. Jaskier’s blue-grey eyes were looking up at him in that same sad way. He could hardly believe that he’d heard the words right but Jaskier had said them.

“Close your eyes,” Geralt tells the bard. 

“W-why?” 

“Just close them.”

Obediently, Jaskier closes his eyes and waits. 

He feels Geralt’s large, warm hands on either side of his face now, cupping his cheeks. Instinctively, Jaskier hastily grips onto the Witcher’s arms. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, relax.”

Jaskier loosens his grip and Geralt leans in. Close enough that Jaskier can feel the Witcher’s breath hot against his parted lips and his tongue. Jaskier’s heart skips a beat as Geralt’s lips ghost over his and he feels the Witcher guiding him back onto the bed until Jaskier’s on his back and the Witcher’s callused hands shift. One rests against the column of his neck, the other, settles against his hip, squeezing encouragingly while drawing him in close. 

Jaskier moans languidly into the kiss as Geralt draws the length of their bodies together. The Witcher is all hardness and muscle and Jaskier can hardly breathe now as the intensity of their kiss grows. He pushes against Geralt’s chest gently, looking up into darkened eyes ringed with amber. “Geralt…don’t…you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m taking advantage of you…” he confesses, unable to bring himself to say that he’d used a love potion but trying at least to let the Witcher know.

“I want to,” Geralt replies huskily, carding his fingers through Jaskier’s short brunet locks, “Your singing back there…I saw you, really saw you. It was enough to convince me that…” a reassuring chaste, quick kiss, “I love you.” 

It breaks Jaskier’s heart to hear the confession. 

Of course, Geralt loved him. 

It’s the potion’s doing. 

“Oh you say such…sweet things…Geralt…” Jaskier whispers as he gazes up at the Witcher feeling the stinging of tears in his eyes again.

This is it. 

His breaking point. 

Geralt _needed_ to know the truth.

“Alright…I’ve had my fun. Now…I want you to listen to me Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier swallows as he studies Geralt’s eyes, “It’s not real…none of this was…you don’t feel this way because of me. It’s the potion’s doing.” 

“No it’s not. If it was, I would know,” Geralt reassures him, “My feelings for you are real, Jaskier.” 

“But the potion...?” The bard’s alcohol addled mind was slow to process this, “I don’t understand…you…knew? All this time…you knew?”

“Yes,” Geralt confessed as he shifted and lay down beside Jaskier, “The potion was fake. If I were under the spell, it would be like watching my life unfold from behind bars. I would be doing and saying things against my will.”

“So you’re saying that…all this while…what we did…what you did…and said…you did them all…willingly?” 

Geralt’s reply was simple, “Yes.” 

Jaskier’s cheeks reddened, “Wait! So this afternoon…when we…nearly…” 

Geralt chuckled, “I got carried away. You smelled so good and I wanted you there and then. I would have had you,” he growled, “Had that manservant not come in.” 

Jaskier side-eyes the Witcher taking in the sight of his lips, the stubble against his chin the way his eyes blinked slowly.

_‘I want him…’_

Jaskier shifts to sit astride the Witcher, “You can have me now, Geralt” he says pulling the nightshirt over his head and tossing it aside. At least he had the liquid courage still coursing through his veins now. Any other day and this wouldn’t have happened and perhaps, somewhere in the back of his mind, there existed a niggling thought amidst the haze of his alcohol-induced stupor that Jaskier had made a bad decision. 

Geralt was intrigued, “Are you giving me permission to finish what we started?” he asked smoothing his hands up Jaskier’s bare thighs, over the frilly lace bloomers and resting against the indent of the bard’s hips kneading softly. He heard the bard’s soft whine, “Is this what you want?” Geralt husked as he toyed with the drawstrings on Jaskier’s lacy underpants, tugging on them slowly until the ribbon came undone.

Jaskier watched open-mouthed, words failing him. A shudder coursed up his spine warm and tingly as the Witcher drew his length out, palming it slowly, reverently. It was the kind of touch that Jaskier had not expected the Witcher to be capable of. His eyes fluttered close now as he sighed. The Witcher takes that as a yes and fingers twisting in brunet locks, Geralt pulls the bard down to him, wanting to taste him. Jaskier lets out a surprised gasp and then groans into the kiss. This time he doesn’t play coy, he kisses Geralt eagerly, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss as his fingers fumbled with the clasps on Geralt’s jacket.

The Witcher moves to sit with Jaskier settled in his lap. He shrugs out of his jacket and lets the bard unlace his shirt, pulling it over his head. Then, Jaskier pauses to admire Geralt in all his topless glory. The broad planes of his lightly furred chest, the tiny nicks, and scars that marred his body, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. Blue-grey eyes sought out amber ones as Jaskier placed his hand against the Witcher’s chest, right over his heart, splaying his fingers out. Geralt’s heartbeat a strong and steady rhythm against his palm, “They were wrong,” Jaskier whispered softly, “You have a heart…just like any of us.” 

Geralt chuckled taking Jaskier’s hand he pressed a kiss to the pads of each of the bard’s fingertips, “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“No…it’s just…” Jaskier laughed as the stupid thought crossed his mind again, “I heard that Witchers carve their hearts out during their initiation. To stop them from…feeling things…”

“Emotion is our biggest flaw and weakness,” Geralt tells the bard, “It is an infection that spreads like wildfire to consume everything. We are but lonesome creatures.”

Jaskier cards his hands through the Witcher’s moon-silver locks and puts his forehead to Geralt’s, “Oh don’t sound so sad…you’re going to make me cry like this…”

“But it is the truthmmmf—” 

Jaskier slants his lips over Geralt’s he wishes he could absorb all the Witcher’s pain. There’s so much that he doesn’t yet know about him. So much that he wants to know. Locked in his embrace, the Witcher’s tongue maps out the bard’s mouth, circling languidly against the bard’s wet muscle before pulling back to suck on his bottom lip. Geralt’s impatience grows by the second. The more their tongue battled, the more his arousal grew. He grips the bard’s arse drawing Jaskier in close so that the bard whines into the kiss and rocks his hips against Geralt’s needy, wanton and seeking...

That’s when his resolve finally snaps. 

Jaskier yelps when Geralt lifts him and lies him on his back in bed. Geralt easily pulls the slip of silk and lace off Jaskier tossing the bloomers onto the floor and leaving the bard utterly naked. Amber eyes hungrily drink in Jaskier’s pale body, slaking the Witcher’s thirst as he smooths his hands over Jaskier’s skin. They are warm, hot even, branding his skin as Geralt traces the curves of his body, the indent of his hip and reaches boldly to grab his cock. Jaskier doesn’t hold back the lewd moan that escapes his lips as the Witcher spits into his hand then grips his shaft, tugging languidly and without hurry. He means to draw this out. 

Geralt continues from where he’d left off this afternoon taking pleasure in watching as the bard writhed in bed, legs spread apart in offering. A beautiful portrait. Once again he traces his thumb along the thick vein on the underside of the bard’s shaft, from base to tip and back.

Jaskier whines, “Stop with your teasing, Geralt.” 

The Witcher smirks, “As you wish.” 

Pulling back from Jaskier, Geralt works on his own belt and trousers, shucking them off. Geralt notes the way Jaskier’s eyes climb his body and he lets the bard take him in seeing the bard’s cheeks colour all of a sudden.

Jaskier’s eyes are fixated upon the half-hard cock between the Witcher’s legs. All that…was because of him? _'Impossible!'_ To think that Geralt would be putting…all of that…inside him…

Jaskier swallowed hard.

“You’re thinking. What is it?”

“I don’t…” Jaskier begins nervously clearing his throat before starting again, “I…um…I suppose…now would be a good time to say that I’ve never…actually…um…” 

“Slept with a man?” 

“Well, I have,” Jaskier said to which Geralt’s face darkened visibly, “I’ve shared a bed and you know…touched myself...while watching another boy at university…and stuff. But what I mean to say…is that…while I’ve fooled around and such…I’ve never…let anyone…you know…” he nodded to the Witcher’s shaft. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. There are other ways.” 

“No! I want you inside me!” Jaskier quickly retorted and then covered his face as he felt his cheeks get even hotter in embarrassment, “It’s just…” 

“Lie back and don’t talk,” Geralt instructed as he pulled the small vials of White Honey out of his jacket pocket. 

Jaskier heard the pop of a cork and the sweet scent of the potion Geralt had given him when they’d first arrived. He lowers his hands watching as Geralt crawls back into bed with it and empties the contents onto his palm, which he wrapped around Jaskier’s cock and began to stroke. Jaskier gasped at the slick feeling as Geralt’s hand glided smoothly up and down his cock. In seconds he was breathless. The Witcher fondled his balls gently applying pressure with his thumb and making Jaskier keen a high pitched sound. 

“What the devil!” 

Geralt chuckled as Jaskier’s cock bobbed in approval. Slowly, his fingers found their way to Jaskier’s puckered hole and Geralt swirled his forefinger around the sensitive skin. Jaskier’s breathing was ragged and his lips parted in the sweetest manner as Geralt drew beautifully lewd sounds from him. Slowly, Geralt pushed a finger against Jaskier’s nub. Jaskier shut his eyes whimpering as his stomach fluttered at the burn when Geralt’s finger breached the tight ring of muscle. He bit his lower lip, instinctively trying to close his legs but Geralt wouldn’t let him. 

The Witcher’s lips pressed kisses to the inside of Jaskier’s thigh, sucking softly on Jaskier’s supple flesh as he fingered the bard gently. Jaskier was a fast learner and before he knew it, the bard was begging for more, moaning softly every now and then when Geralt stroked against that sweet spot inside him. Geralt felt his own cock twitch as he watched Jaskier writhe in bed. A few nights ago he’d wondered what being inside Jaskier would feel like and now…with Jaskier’s tight heat wrapped around his fingers, the Witcher could only imagine the way the bard’s body would welcome him. 

_'Enough!'_ Geralt pulled away and Jaskier’s eyes flashed open glaring at him accusatorially. 

“A moment,” Geralt gruffed as he emptied two more White Honey potions slathering the entirety of his length with it. 

Jaskier invitingly shuffled closer towards Geralt now as the Witcher hooked a hand behind his knee, spreading his legs wider. Jaskier’s eyes were locked with Geralt’s and he saw the way those amber eyes went wide before he squeezed them shut, gritting his teeth. A tortured groan was wrenched from the Witcher’s throat as Geralt sunk his thick cock fully into Jaskier.

“Fuck…”

The Witcher leaned in to capture his lips, tongue licking into Jaskier’s mouth and fucking it good. Jaskier shuddered as Geralt ran his hands along his body, hooking behind knees and drawing Jaskier’s legs about his waist to burry his need even deeper. The burn and push of Geralt’s cock soon gave way to a pleasant feeling of fullness that Jaskier discovered he liked. There was something grossly intimate about the way Geralt’s shaft split him open and claimed him. Jaskier was breathless when they pulled away from the kiss, lips glistening with saliva. Geralt’s forehead was creased. Jaskier could tell he was holding back, waiting. 

A light touch against his hip was enough of a sign for Geralt to move and move he did, pulling out and sinking back in again, teeth gritted. The Witcher slowly pistons in and out of the bard’s wet heat. He would have loved to mindlessly ram his cock inside the bard but he would save that for another day.

That is until the bard whispered, “Faster…”

Geralt gladly complied with Jaskier’s plea, knees bent back against his chest, Geralt quickens his pace pounding into Jaskier’s tight hole and grunting from the exertion of each stroke. His hands grasp onto Jaskier’s thighs, kneading into his supple flesh. They wander up the bard’s lithe body, squeezing the planes of his chest, tweaking his nipples. 

_‘Mine.’_

Jaskier’s fingers curl around Geralt’s arm and the Witcher feels the brunet pull him close. A light sheen of perspiration glistens on Geralt’s chest and Jaskier smooths a hand up the Witcher’s lightly furred chest. Geralt’s throat rumbles in approval at Jaskier’s touch. It spurs the bard on and he daringly grabs Geralt’s chin and drawing him in for a sloppy kiss.

Yearning for more, the bard’s fingers tangle up in the Witcher’s damp hair, he angles Geralt’s head just so, tongue battling with the Witcher’s as he sinks his nails into Geralt’s thigh making the Witcher groan into their kiss. “Oh Geralt! Yes!” Jaskier sighed as he felt Geralt picking up the pace, their rhythm building steadily towards their climax as the Witcher hit home every time, buried balls deep inside him, “Just like that! Fuck! Yes!” he whines softly into the Witcher’s ear as he held fast to Geralt, burying his lips against the Witcher’s neck. Skin on skin, their breaths and sweat mingled as their entwined bodies mated, becoming one.

In the aftermath of their sex, Jaskier curls up against Geralt’s side the haze of the alcohol and the buzz of his recent climax made him extremely sleepy. But also oddly happy and complete. Yet even as he drifted off, there was that wanton part of his brain that was already missing the feeling of Geralt inside him. 

It could wait…there was already enough excitement for one night. 

**xXx**

Things start slow on the third morning of the retreat at the Vegelbud’s Mansion. Geralt and Jaskier weren’t the only ones to have shared a bed that night. Queen Calanthe too had spent the night in King Eist’s bed, a wise decision considering what was soon to unfold. 

As the sun began to rise and the rest of the mansion starts to wake, a shrill high-pitched scream tears through the mansion resonating in the gardens and grounds surrounding the mansion. 

Calanthe sits hastily in bed, Eist following suit beside her. As the two look to one another, a succession of knocks sound urgently against their door, “Your Majesties! Something terrible has happened!”


	5. Hidden in Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can't believe it's been more than a month since I last updated, but here's the next chapter posted a point in time when the world's gone to shit and I'm still going to work because my company/boss clearly doesn't believe that the situation is serious enough. I'm personally doing all I can to make sure I don't fall ill, but anyway storytime! Have more crossdressing Jaskier and lots of feelings!

The third morning at the Veglbud mansion greets its occupants with bloody terror and a murder mystery as the mansion goes into lockdown. The mansion is in utter chaos and servants can be seen running around the hallways ushering the guests away from the site of the mishap. Guards are posted along the hallway to deter any stragglers from passing by the Queen’s bedchambers where the incident happened. Amidst it all, Queen Calanthe is calm and reserved a picture of anything but shock along with her husband King Eist, the druid Mousesack who looked like he hadn’t slept at all and their increasingly worried host, Lady Vegelbud.

“I don’t suppose any of you saw the Witcher leave the party last night?” Queen Calanthe asked to which both the hostess and her husband replied a negative to, “Mousesack, what about you?” 

Mousesack snapped out of his dazed state, “I apologise Your Highness, I did not quite catch your words.” 

“Clearly. Are you feeling quite alright? You seem rather preoccupied.” 

“Yes of course I’m quite alright…it’s just that I had the most…interesting night,” Mousesack muttered as he recalled Jaskier the bard’s grand reveal last night. Lady Juliana the beautiful goddess is in fact none other than the bard himself. Not his cousin, not his sister or anything like that. The gorgeous Lady Juliana is actually Jaskier in a dress and wig…and he’s apparently together…with Geralt? “That’s besides the point. What were you asking me Your Highness?”

“Did you happen to see the Witcher last night?” Calanthe asked. 

“Yes I did in fact. He went right off after the performance, was talking to…Jas-…Lady…Juliana…” Mousesack muttered quickly correcting himself before he blew their cover. Perhaps they knew, or perhaps they didn’t, the druid isn’t going to chance it for he knows he’ll face the wrath of Geralt if anything happens to Jaskier.

“If that’s the case…” Eist began as he looked to Calanthe meaningfully, “It might not be best to wake them,” he said in a hushed tone. 

Calanthe smirked a little at her husband’s consideration for the Witcher and his bard, “Unfortunately, we’re going to need Geralt down here to examine the scene. See what his Witcher eyes can pick up. The faster we get this solved the better. The grand masquerade is tomorrow and we don’t want anything else happening during that period of time. Now, Lady Vegelbud…” 

“I’m already on it Your Highness, I’ve just sent a guard to fetch Geralt.”

“Let’s just hope that the Witcher’s not going to be in a bad mood..” Calanthe muttered as they waited outside the door to her assigned chambers for even the mighty lioness found that she could not stomach the horrors within at such an early hour. 

**xXx**

When Jaskier wakes the next morning, his head hurts something bad. It’s pounding so much that Jaskier’s sure that he can hear the sound echoing throughout the room like a loud banging. With a pathetic little whine, the bard rolls over in bed burrowing his head under one of the pillows as he yells a muffled, “Will someone please shut the goddamn knocking up, for heaven’s sake!” 

The body next to him groans, “Mmm...I’ll get it…” Geralt’s not a morning person either (well at least not today with the bard naked in bed with him) but compared to being drunk and possibly having a hangover, he is obviously in a much better state than Jaskier. So the Witcher dutifully rolls out of bed, pulling on his trousers at least to have some semblance of decency before he goes to answer the door. “What?” he growls at the guard who stood at the door, practically cowering before him. “A-A-Are you S-Sir Geralt?” he stuttered. 

“Yes…and what do you want?” Geralt asks, trying not to be as fierce as he leans against the door in what he hopes is a less intimidating and more casual pose.

“Well…um…I need you to come with me quickly. The Queen has requested your presence outside her chambers. It’s important.”

Geralt raised a brow, “What’s so important at this hour? She need us to decide on a dress to wear to the Grand Masquerade or something?”

“N-no, sir. It’s…” the manservant looked both ways, inspecting the hallways before leaning forward to whisper, “There’s been a murder…in the Queen’s bedchambers.” 

“Alright. Give us five minutes.” 

It took more than five minutes for Jaskier to even get out of bed. He did not want to look at Geralt let alone be in the same room as the Witcher for all he could think about was the things that had transpired between them last night. The way they kissed, the way their bodies melded together, how Geralt felt inside him with his large, callused hands grasping onto Jaskier’s body, touching him all over. Jaskier shuddered at the thought righting the wig on his head. He glared resolutely into the mirror.

_‘No more of that…he knows now…so things are bound to be different.’_

On another note, to hell with dresses today for the bard just wanted to feel comfortable in familiar clothes. And so, Jaskier settled for a set of his own clothes. The infamous doublet, tunic and breeches ensemble except in black because any more colour than that would be ‘unsuited’ for the occasion according to a certain sorceress. Pulling back from the mirror, Jaskier looked at his dour reflection. He did _not_ look like he’d just spent the night in bed with someone he loved. He looked like he’d just attended a funeral. _‘Whatever. This will have to do.’_ Jaskier isn’t in a particularly caring mood at the moment so he couldn’t give two shits about what others thought about him. Also, who cares if they knew who he is anyway? They probably already did…given last night’s debacle with Mousesack.

“Jaskier, are you ready?” Geralt asked standing in the doorway of the adjoining door between their rooms, witnessing a rather dazed Jaskier who is gazing into the mirror. It had been a while since Jaskier had put on some pants and Geralt found he actually missed it, the way Jaskier looked in pants, with his slender little waist and wonderfully shapely legs. 

Blue-grey eyes met amber ones as the bard turned to look at the Witcher watching over him, “I am now,” Jaskier muttered as he looked away first, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt so…exposed for some reason. The Witcher didn’t have to look at him like that…so intensely…like he wanted another round of last night…another round of fucking…hands all over his body…heated kisses upon his lips and upon his skin. Jaskier blushed at the flickering moments in his mind.

When the Witcher did not move, Jaskier looked up at him, “Well? Are we going or not?” he prompted.

Geralt frowned. He’s not about to leave this room with the bard being so…weird. It seems as though something is off with Jaskier this morning and Geralt didn’t know how to approach the topic. His tone is gentle as he speaks, “Are you…feeling alright?” 

_‘Honestly? I don’t know how or what to feel…’_ Jaskier sighed and nodded as he pressed his fingers to his forehead, “My head just hurts and honestly? I don’t really feel much for going out right about now.”

“Me neither,” the Witcher admits, “I think you had a bit too much to drink last night,” Geralt continued as he reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a potion for Jaskier, “This should help clear your head.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier grabbed the vial feeling lightning in his veins at the moment their fingers touched. _‘I wonder if he felt that too?’_ Jaskier downed the potion and felt a soothing calm settle over his senses. The heaviness of his head lessened and so too did the pounding.

“Come,” Geralt ushers the bard out of the room now hand on the small of his back. Things were certainly different. For he finds himself yearning for more contact with Jaskier to feel the bard’s skin against his, accompanied by that delightful tingle.

But nothing could prepare the Witcher for the response that he gets from Jaskier when the bard purposefully moves away from him. Putting distance between them. In truth, Geralt is hurt by Jaskier’s response especially after what they’d shared last night, he would have thought that perhaps Jaskier might be more welcoming of him. The Witcher eyes his bard, knowing that there’s definitely something different between them and he fears that it’s a ‘bad’ sort of different.

When Jaskier shies away from the Witcher’s hand, choosing to walk slightly farther apart from Geralt, it’s only because he’s ashamed of the lengths that he’d gone to make whatever happened last night a reality. _‘The entire process of us being together right now isn’t even organic to begin with!’_ The love potion, the dressing up, their confessions. Everything is starting to come back in bits and pieces which Jaskier is slowly stringing together as they walked. He still cannot believe that the Witcher and him had spent the night together. Perhaps it was out of pity…for surely, it couldn’t have been that the Witcher was really willing…right?

As they hurried along with the guard leading the way in front of them, Jaskier noticed Geralt eyeing him. The bard returned the Witcher’s glance. Perhaps he should say something. Talk about the night that they’s spent together. Ask the Witcher if he really meant what he’d said last night about it all being real. Or perhaps he should just shut up. For there is something like regret in Geralt’s amber eyes, regret and...sorrow? It pained Jaskier to see the Witcher like this but he decided it best to say nothing going back to his thoughts.

Honestly though, the bard wondered just what all the fuss was about to send a guard to wake them up just as the sun is rising. It had to be something important no doubt. Jaskier isn’t really in any mood to converse partially because of the mild hangover he’s still having but mostly because he’d been deprived of a good morning cuddle in bed together with the Witcher. Perhaps then the shock of last night’s escapades (or perhaps he should rename it sexcapades) would be less…shocking for Jaskier. They’d actually gone and done the deed. Sealed the deal. Had that tumble in the bushes. Whatever other allegories to their sexual deeds to be included he would include them all. In fact, the reminder of their wondrously sinful act was there to remind him of last night with every step he walked because he hurt in places that he really shouldn’t be hurting in. If they’d just had the chance to stay in bed, then maybe they could have talked…or worked something out…

As they rounded the corner of the mansion, Geralt saw in the distance the gathering outside the bedchambers that must have belonged to Queen Calanthe. The murder was the worst thing that could have happened on a morning like this when Geralt wanted nothing more than to have a lie in bed with the bard. One, he could actually talk about this weird silence that’s going on between them or maybe that might have been completely averted. Two, he could actually make sure that everything is really alright with Jaskier and three, Geralt just wanted to reassure his bard that last night…had been wonderful and waking up next to Jaskier was something Geralt wanted to do from now on for he’d found the bard to be rather cute while he slept. 

If only he could belay Jaskier’s fears and tell him that potion or no, last night had been a long time coming. For how exactly is a Witcher to resist having this bard curled up against his side for the entire night and not want to hold him and love him? With his need for Jaskier sated, at least for last night, Geralt was able to actually relax and get some proper sleep, something which he had been meaning to do for awhile now…that is until this whole murder thing happened.

As soon as they’d reached the gathering, the guard left to take up his position along the hallway. Geralt and Jaskier weaved their way through the stragglers, going against the flow of people that are being ushered away from outside the chambers. At the heart of it all stood Lady Vegelbud gathered together with Mousesack, Queen Calanthe and King Eist. They all turn to look towards the Witcher and Lady Juliana (the bardess) as the two of them stride into the scene. 

“Good morning, Witcher, Lady Juliana,” Queen Calanthe greets with a nod, her tone is grim, “We are terribly sorry to have to disturb your morning,” she continues rather pointedly as though she must have known what took them so long to get here, fully clothed and decent-looking.

Geralt let out a disgruntled, “Mhm…”

Jaskier stood close to the Witcher wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up by the ground as Mousesack uncomfortably cleared his throat, trying not to stare at Lady Juliana any more. After last night, the advisor must have been horrified by the grand reveal and Jaskier wanted to hide his face for being a total arse towards Mousesack.

“Darling, why don’t you explain it,” Queen Calanthe said as she urged King Eist to take the lead. 

“Well, last night, we…I…” King Eist’s cheeks turned red as ripe cherries, “Perhaps you should tell the Witcher…”

“I visited my husband in his bedchambers and stayed the night with him,” Calanthe continued casually, “I realised I was going to need a new set of clothes so Eist sent his manservant over to my room to get a set of said set of clothes.” 

“Only he never returned,” Eist picked up the tale once more, “Which we thought was fine at first considering the fact that the man might not want to…” here he cleared his throat again, going cherry red, “Witness certain things.”

“And then this morning I sent my maidservant over and that’s when she found him in my bed. Head and heart in his hands,” Queen Calanthe finished. 

“Hmm…do any of the guests know about it?”

“There’s no doubt that they will have heard whispers of the incident come noon,” Lady Vegelbud replied, “I’ve got the estate on lockdown, however. No one comes in or out.” 

“But who’s to say that they haven’t already left though?” Jaskier muttered at which point the Witcher turned to look at him though the rest must not have heard him.

“Perhaps you might glean more from the scene of the crime itself. No one has gone in since the maidservant found him the way he was this morning. A fair warning though, what you’re about to see inside is not for the faint of heart,” Queen Calanthe warned. 

“I suppose that’s my cue to stay right here. I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to blood you see,” Lady Juliana lamented, “I think I’ll faint at the sight of it.” 

“If it’s anything like the last one, there’s no doubt it will be quite the scene. I’ll have a look around on my own,” Geralt announced. 

The Witcher didn’t know if this was Jaskier speaking or if the bard was just channelling his inner Lady Juliana. If anything, Jaskier’s seen worse before while they were on the road that’s for sure and in fact, the bard’s seen the previous murder victims too. He’d been squeamish about them, sure, but at the end of the day, the bard was the one to point out the grotesquely poetic beauty of the position that the victims had been left in, something Geralt hadn’t really thought about. Of course, things were different back then…they hadn’t slept with each other and the Witcher isn’t about to force the bard to be with him if he doesn’t want to.

“Come, we shall let the Witcher do his work,” Calanthe said as she ushered the rest of them down the hallway, “In the meantime, we shall wait in Eist’s room.”

**xXx**

“Fuck.” 

Three cases in and this fourth victim still had the ability to make the Witcher grimace. The scene in the room is unsuitable for the faint of heart exactly as Queen Calanthe had said. The sight that greets the Witcher is both artistic and grotesque, a horrible masterpiece Jaskier would call it before quickly moving off elsewhere, as far away from the body as possible. 

Like the previous three victims, King Eist’s manservant sat back upon his neatly folded legs under him. His pose imitated that of the previous three victims. Palms upturned upon his lap, the manservant held his head in his right hand and his heart in his left hand. It’s as Jaskier had surmised before, some sick bastard’s way of conveying the choice between the head and the heart. On top of that, his chest had been split wide open and the ribs were broken and spread apart like grotesque fingers branching out from his chest to claw at the world.

Geralt approached the corpse on the bed. “Body’s gone stone cold,” he muttered as he brought a hand to the corpse’s arm, which, reminded him of the cool marble statues. “Murder must’ve happened last night,” the Witcher continued as he took a closer look at the corpse, “Head’s been severed cleanly off. No repeated chopping. Seems the murderer’s still got strength in his arms to deliver one huge blow. Just like the rest of the bodies…” 

As the Witcher examined the surroundings of the bed, he noticed the trail of blood that led back into the Queen’s boudoir. There, the walls were painted in splatters of crimson where blood covered the walls. “Arterial spray,” Geralt muttered to himself as he traced the dried blood on the wall, “The victim was slaughtered here. But for the murderer to stand face to face with him…doesn’t seem right.” The doors of the oak cupboard were left wide open. The Queen’s clothes were strewn about the floor together with a statuette with a bloodied edge.

“There’s no sign of a struggle. So the murderer came up behind him and knocked him out. The victim never even saw him coming.”

Geralt notes the large stain on the carpet in the boudoir where a body was no doubt cut up. “Then he was murdered here and brought out to be repositioned. It’s exactly the same. The killer wants to be noticed…If the attack started in the boudoir where the Queen’s dressing robes and her clothes are kept…then perhaps he meant to target the Queen?”

Further exploration of the boudoir revealed no other discarded weapons but when Geralt looked out the window, he found a trail of blood upon the parapet and what almost looked like footprints in the dirt. “The killer must’ve escaped through here. Guess we’ll have to check that out later.”

Meanwhile, in the other room, Jaskier stands alone looking out the window over the misty gardens as the sun’s rays kissed the flower petals. He kept running his mind over last night’s events. _‘You should’ve known alcohol makes you more than just a little loose-lipped! Oh, but imagine if you didn’t tell him…he’d be even more confused wouldn’t he? Or maybe he won’t? God I don’t know anymore!’_

“Miss? Lady Juliana?” 

Jaskier turns at the sound of someone calling his ‘name’. He finds the druid coming to stand beside him and they exchange small nods in greeting.

“I’m sorry,” Mousesack began, “For making you feel uncomfortable. Had I known it was you, Jaskier…”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jaskier replied shaking his head, “If anything I should be the one apologising for my attitude last night. I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

Mousesack smirks, “It’s all been forgotten, don’t worry about it, miss,” he finished with a little conspiratory wink. “Now, I couldn’t help but to notice you here all alone. Are you alright?” 

Jaskier met the druid’s inquisitive gaze and he sighed, pursing his lips, “I don’t know,” he whispered, “To be honest, I don’t even want to be here right now.”

“Judging from the way you look all sad and melancholic-like, I’m wondering if Geralt did something…bad? 

Jaskier shook his head, “No! No…I don’t know, it’s complicated really…things happened and oh…I really don’t know…”

One final sweep around the Queen’s room proved that the Witcher hadn’t missed anything inside here. Geralt heads over to the adjoining door and tries the handle. Not surprisingly, the door swings open onto King Eist’s room where the rest of them are gathered. Of course, the first thing the Witcher looks for almost every time is his bard and Geralt finds Jaskier, back facing him, standing together with Mousesack by the window deep in conversation. The druid nods to him in greeting and Geralt returns in kind before Jaskier turns to look at him as well. He surmised that they must’ve been talking about him for the bard had that forlorn look upon his features once more.

Geralt offers what he hopes looks like a welcoming smile and _thankfully_ , this time, the bard smiles back in that demure and almost melancholic manner. It takes all his strength not to rush over to Jaskier and comfort him. Instead, he is forced to abandon Jaskier whilst he relays his findings and information to the Queen.

“I noticed that you didn’t lock the door. Quite dangerous don’t you think to have a passageway through which the murderer might have entered by?” 

“I swear it was locked last night,” Eist replied.

“Hmm, it is possible then that the murderer snuck in and was unable to find the Queen in her chambers, so he intended to search for her in the surrounding area. It’s all the more reason then for me to believe that you are the next target,” Geralt replied as he looked to Queen Calanthe.

“Witcher, if this is the same murderer responsible for the deaths in Novigrad, what could they possibly want?” Lady Vegelbud asked, “Her Majesty is here for the races. Why will they want to harm her?”

“People can and will do surprising things,” Queen Calanthe muttered, “I suppose you have a plan, Geralt?” 

Geralt nodded, “First things first, Your Majesties are going to need to be updated on the cases.”

“Wait, before you begin,” Queen Calanthe interrupted, waving the duo by the window over to join them, “Mousesack, Lady Juliana, come.” 

“Guess that’s our cue,” Jaskier sighed as he and Mousesack rejoined the main group. They’d gotten nowhere with trying to discuss Geralt. Mousesack had mentioned that the Witcher’s emotions were hard to guess sometimes and perhaps Jaskier should just ask him. “Be direct about it. You are after all curious aren’t you?” the druid’s words rang in his head. _‘Well of course I am but the dreadful embarrassment of it all! I don’t think I can bear it. Just imagining talking to Geralt about last night…makes me feel sick…’_

Once more he stood under Geralt’s scrutiny, the Witcher’s hawk-like gaze had the bard’s defences in shambles as Jaskier folded his arms across his chest and looked to his feet trying to make himself as small as possible. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Geralt’s penetrating gaze nor the utter embarrassment about the ‘big reveal’ last night.

“Alright, you may begin, Geralt.”

“Well, since Lady Juliana has been helping me out thus far on the cases,” Geralt said as he looked to Jaskier, “I would appreciate if she too can contribute some knowledge in my recounted tales where I fall short.” 

“I’ll try. But I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own…” _‘as you always have…with someone that isn’t me…’_

“Now, so far, the murderer’s been keeping consistent,” Geralt continued, “The victims, have all been women until now. They all share similar backgrounds since all of them are members of high society. All of them followed our murderer willingly, whether by use of love potion, charm or spell, to a remote and odd location. Then he kills them and arranges the body.”

“Arranges the body?” King Eist asked, “So you mean to say there’s a sicko out there who…who puts these people into that position we found them in? Why the devil would they do such a thing?”

“It’s an artistic construct, Lady Juliana, perhaps you would care to explain?” 

Jaskier nodded, “I figured after the second case that there’s a reason for the spectacle. With Novigrad’s long history of tumultuous times between the humans and non-humans, …we soon came to the conclusion that the murderer could possibly be a non-human. The arrangement of the head and the heart in either hand seems to represent a choice, a dilemma of sorts between one’s heart and mind.”

_‘How apt it must seem for me to be talking about such a topic…’_

“The murderer’s idea of this choice is represented in a twisted way,” Queen Calanthe muttered, “But what of his motive?” 

“The Lady and I came to the conclusion that this person wants to be seen, to make a spectacle of his or her work is to call attention to one’s self. They might have changed tactics this time keeping to the shadows and attacking the manservant in the boudoir but they want to be found. There’s no doubt that our mystery killer will strike again at the Grand Masquerade tomorrow night. That’s about as big a spectacle as they’ll get around here.”

“Then we must cancel it!” Lady Vegelbud cut in, “Simple enough. I’ll cancel the entire event and send the guests back home. That way we avoid the spectacle and another death.”

“No,” Geralt ground out and all eyes turned to the Witcher who revealed his plan, “The whole reason we attended this event is to capture the killer. It’s been plaguing the city of Novigrad for too long. I aim to use this masquerade to catch the killer and put a stop to this once and for all.”

“But the casualties,” King Eist said, “If they’re after Calanthe…” 

“Darling, we’ve been through worse. They can come, we’ll be ready,” Calanthe replied with a sense of finality. 

“I’m sure I can work on a protection spell as well,” Mousesack added.

“You do that and maybe a containment spell as well just in case. And it’s best to keep silver on you at the masquerade just to be safe,” Geralt replied, “Now if you’ll excuse us, there are more clues in the garden that I would like to examine with the Lady. It might help narrow down who our mystery killer is.” 

“You will report back to us, yes?” Lady Vegelbud asked. 

The Witcher nodded his head as he offered his hand to the bard who had no choice but to take it as custom would allow.

**xXx**

Geralt’s hand is large and warm, curled about his own, callused and rough. Jaskier doesn’t pull away this time as they examine the grounds of the house together. The footprints Geralt believed, belonged to a man for the base of the shoes were wide and his strides were long, so someone tall. They trailed the footprints into the maze where they vanished completely. 

“That’s odd,” Geralt mutters as he lets go of the bard’s hand first. The tracks ended as abruptly, almost as though they had just vanished into thin air. “The tracks end here.” 

“They can’t have just upped and vanished, right?” Jaskier asked as he walked the length of the clearing. The other exits in the maze didn’t look like they possessed any clues either, perhaps not to his human eyes anyway. The fountain in the clearing bubbled gently and Jaskier gazed into the water watching the fishes swim all, of them unaware of the trouble descending around them in this human world.

“It certainly seems like they did,” Geralt sighed as he sat down on the wooden bench, his search of the other passages leading to the center of the maze had turned up nothing as well. He watches as Jaskier paces the length of the clearing back and forth over and over. “Something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is.”

Jaskier stops in his tracks. “It’s…got to do with what happened last night.” 

“Do you regret spending last night with me?” Geralt asks. 

The bard whips his head up to look at the Witcher, “Is that what you think? Because you’re wrong on that front at least,” he replies hurriedly hoping to belay the Witcher’s fears, “I don’t regret…us…spending the night…together…” his cheeks flushed red at the memory, “It was wonderful and I think I rather enjoyed it. But…I just can’t believe that I would have resorted to such means to…ensnare you and…” Jaskier shakes his head, “Look the thing is I didn’t mean to use it, the love potion. I’m sorry. I…really am…I just felt so guilty…” 

“I know,” Geralt replies with a soft understanding in his voice 

“Wait, what? You…knew…how?” Jaskier asked narrowing his eyes at the Witcher. _‘There’s no way he knows unless…’_

“I read your book.”

Jaskier was speechless. _‘I should have known he’d read it!’_

“A Common Person’s Guide to Using Love Potions on A Witcher, one of the notes under warnings said that if you suffer from a guilty conscious perhaps don’t purchase a love potion. I’m assuming you were speaking from experience?” 

Jaskier smacked his palm against his forehead repeatedly, “Oh stupid! Stupid! Stupid! You read the book that day, didn’t you! Pretending to be meditating my arse! Gods how could I have left it out! Well I mean it’s completely useless now anyway since the love potion was a bloody fake right? That’s what you said last night?”

“The potion _is_ a fake.” 

“Hmph, so much for Madame Paramour!”

“You see real love potions don’t work like that,” Geralt began as Jaskier settled next to the Witcher on the tiny bench, letting their arms press up against each other, “What she made is probably just sugared water with a few drops of rose wine to give it a pinkish tint.”

“Oh and I suppose you know how to make a real love potion.” 

“Sweat of your own, hair of your lovers, a mandrake root to bind all together,” Geralt recited, “You douse the root in the mixture and then you hang it under the person’s bed and then supposedly you wait for the magic to work.”

Jaskier frowned, “Hmm…that all seems more dark, decrepit and way more tedious than what Madame Paramour even suggested and mind you she didn’t provide such in-depth instructions. It was just ‘here’s the potion sonny put it in their food or drink, now be on yer way!’” 

Geralt smiled at the bard’s impression, “The bottom line is that love potions never really work.”

“So then you really meant it everything that you did….that we did…oh my god…you you _really_ meant it…no way!” Jaskier mutters as he begins to hyperventilate, “Geralt you…honestly, wanted me all this while? It wasn’t just my alcohol addled mind making things up…”

“Jaskier, why would I make those things up?” The Witcher asked and watched as the bard lifted his shoulder, a small dainty little shrug, “I just…never had the chance to tell you or show you for that matter…how I felt. I know you think that Yen and I…are a thing. Let me tell you now clearly that we broke things off a long time back.”

“You should have told me,” Jaskier said as he shook his head in mock disappointment, “I wouldn’t have been so miserable then, just watching you and her /together/ with each another. And then the Witcher did the most surprising thing that he could ever have done…in that moment that is. He enveloped Jaskier in a hug, crushing the bard up against his chest.

“Umm Geralt?” Jaskier gulped as he froze in the Witcher’s arms, “It’s not that I don’t like sudden displays of affection or hugs in particular. I do…but…it’s just…you’re…hugging me...?”

“Mhm. I’ve been wanting to do that since this morning. When you looked all sad. I wanted to comfort you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what was on your mind at all. ” 

Jaskier found himself smiling as he put his arms about the Witcher as well nuzzling into Geralt’s chest, “Careful I might start demanding hugs from you on a daily basis after this Geralt,” the bard cautioned.

“You know, strangely enough, I would be willing to oblige,” the Witcher replied as he pulled back, looking into the bard’s eyes. “I hope you’re feeling better now.” 

“I am, now that we’ve cleared everything up,” Jaskier grinned, “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that everything…is true…I mean it all still feels like a dream to me…” 

“It’s not. I want you for you, for who you are and not someone that you’re pretending to be,” Geralt answered in earnest, brows knit together, “I don’t know how else to assure you of my feelings for you Jaskier…it’s not every day that a Witcher…expresses what he’s feeling.” 

“You know I like when you get chatty,” Jaskier teased, “Doesn’t seem like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

The Witcher sighed, shaking his head. Strange things happened that sometimes bring people together and this is one of those times when the universe bestowed upon Geralt the life of another to protect someone who needed you just as much as you need them. In fact, Geralt had grown rather used to having Jaskier at his side through thick and thin that the thought of his absence was purely unthinkable. Whatever is out there, Geralt wants to protect the bard from all of it. So he reaches for the chain of the medallion that hung about his neck and takes it off, lifting it over his head. 

“Geralt what…” Jaskier begins as he obediently bows his head for the Witcher to bestow the silver medallion upon him. The chain is warm against his skin and Jaskier touches the silver wolf medallion resting against his chest, tearing up at the Witcher’s gesture for some reason, “Y-you’re giving this to me?” 

Geralt nodded, “I want to keep you safe so at least this will help just a little bit. At this point, I’m not sure what we’re up against. There’s not been enough evidence to confirm what’s after the Queen for sure. But at least the medallion will let you know whether it’s a human or not,” he said as he traced the curve of the medallion. 

“It does that humming thing doesn’t it?” Jaskier asked 

“Mhm. It’ll warn you if there are non-humans in close proximity. When it hums, you’ll feel it,” Geralt explained. 

“I don’t feel anything yet,” the bard murmured meeting amber eyes before they dropped to Geralt’s lips, “Just how close do they have to be?” 

“Close, very…very close,” The Witcher replied as he smirked leaning in towards Jaskier. 

“And I suppose that’s when I should probably scream for your help?” Jaskier breathes as the Witcher’s hand moves to rest against the curve of his neck now, drawing him in. 

“You won’t have to scream,” Geralt reassures the bard, “I’ll always be by your side.” 

It’s just at that moment when a shudder courses up his spine and Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips whisper against his own and his eyes flutter shut that someone clears their throat pointedly breaking the magic of the moment. 

“I am _terribly_ sorry to interrupt you two love birds but—”

“Yen…” Geralt ground out as the scent of lilac and gooseberries filled the garden.

Jaskier whips about finding the sorceress radiantly beautiful and completely void of sickness. There was no sniffling, no red runny nose, no bedraggled hair, just a perfect, beautiful sorceress, “Yennefer?!? What the hell?” he snapped and that shock soon turned into anger, “Why you! Little! I knew it was a ruse all along!” Jaskier wanted to slap her right across her perfectly symmetrical face for lying to him! But before he could take a step, Geralt pulled the bard back against his chest, wrapping his arms about Jaskier for extra protection, “Shh, hey, Jaskier calm down,” the Witcher coos. 

“Oh no! Nonono! This lying _bitch_! She had a cold and didn’t have a remedy and now she’s all better? All of a sudden?”

“Yen,” Geralt began as he fought against Jaskier’s attempts to wriggle free, “You wanna explain before Jaskier bursts a vein?”

The sorceress rolled her eyes heavenward, “Oh, bravo Jaskier, the cold’s a fake just as you guessed…” 

“I knew it!” Jaskier proclaimed, “I knew there was something up with you getting sick all of a sudden. Why would you even tr—”

“I thought I’d play the match maker for once, alright?” Yennefer snapped cutting the bard off, “And from what I witnessed just now, things seem to be going swimmingly well I’d say.” Yennefer remembered the way Jaskier had sung his heart out on stage the night before, she’d never known how much he was hurting over Geralt until that very song. Well…maybe she did all along but there was no way to confirm it with the bard constantly going on and on about Countesses and Ladies of the realm. The decision to be sick had been a mere ploy to aid her own ends, for Yennefer too had come to the mansion in search of someone. With Jaskier helping Geralt out, she’d killed two birds with one stone by allowing the bard to keep Geralt company and also allowing her to search for Istredd, whom she’d heard was now a professor at the University of Oxenfurt. 

“You see, the Vegelbud retreat would have allowed you to spend time together amidst a murder along with that fake potion that Geralt took advantage of as he’s no doubt already told you. So there you have it.” 

Jaskier softens at her words leaning back against Geralt’s chest as the threat passes. The sorceress had set them up. “So when you brought the contract to Geralt and I in the tavern…” 

“Yes I had a plan in mind to stick the two of you together. Since _one_ of you is clearly head over heels,” Yennefer stared pointedly at Jaskier, “and the _other_ ,” she looked to Geralt now, “needs to be smacked in the face with emotion before he realises that someone’s in love with him. So, yes, you’re welcome,” Yennefer finished as she flourished a curtsey, “Idiots…” she muttered softly under her breath. “Now, for the real reason I’m here,” Yennefer produced a satin scarf, “I think the person you’re looking for dropped this.” 

“A woman’s scarf,” Geralt muttered as he let go of Jaskier to examine it, “Soft, it’s made of high-grade silk. Belongs to someone at the mansion, one of the guests? Where’d you find it?”

“Inside the maze, but I have wards set up at all the other ends. There was no disturbance at any of them. Except for the one which you two came through.”

“So whoever or whatever’s after us is hiding somewhere in this maze…” Jaskier mutters.

“I guess our killer’s not working alone then,” Geralt mused with a furrowed brow, “Best not to speak out here.”

**xXx**

“An accomplice?” King Eist asked as they all gathered in Lady Vegelbud’s sitting-room once more. 

This time Jaskier is perched upon the armrest of the Lady Vegelbud’s couch, next to Geralt. He is sure by now that they were all in on the sorceress’ plan of using him as a substitute for none of them seemed to be questioning Yennefer’s sudden presence at the mansion at all. 

“It’s gotta be,” Geralt replied, “Man’s footprints and a woman’s scarf. Whoever they were these two are working together.”

“The scarf looks strangely familiar,” Lady Vegelbud muttered, “I’m not sure why…I have a feeling that I’ve seen it before.” 

“Is it possible that one of the guests wore it?” Yennefer asked.

“Yes of course, I just can’t put my finger on who…” Lady Vegelbud trailed off, lost in her thoughts. 

“If they plan to attack tomorrow evening then we should try to set a trap. Lure the murderer out, I’ll be bait,” Queen Calanthe volunteered. 

“But my Queen! It’s too dangerous,” Mousesack exclaimed. 

“It’s me they want, once they get me that’s that. End of the whole murdering business, right?” she looked to the Witcher for confirmation. 

“It is possible that the cases stop there. But it is also possible for them to go on killing.”

“I’ve got just the plan to lure them,” Yennefer began and all eyes turned to her. 

“Oh…no…I don’t want to hear this…” Jaskier muttered as he noted the ever-present mischievous glint in her violet eyes.

“The plan is simple. Have the guards surround the grand ballroom. First, we gather all the guests in the grand ballroom and then we’re going to need a spectacle so big that everyone will stay to watch it. Mousesack and I will set up wards at all the exits and then the Queen will make her move to leave the room,” Yennefer said as everyone listened to her, “Once Queen Calanthe’s on the move it should be easy enough for us to figure out who’s followed her. That’s when the rest of us will make our moves as well, leaving the room to follow the two culprits.” 

“What sort of spectacle are you expecting?” Lady Vegelbud asked, “I have fire breathers that we can use, or a circus act, perhaps?” 

“No, I already have something in mind,” Yennefer said with a smirk as she turned to look to Jaskier. 

“No,” Jaskier said immediately, “Whatever it is, no!” 

**xXx**

Yennefer’s idea of a spectacle apparently came in the form of two types of dances hailing from the region of Toussaint. Both of which Jaskier is thankfully skilled in and surprisingly…so is Geralt, at least in one (if a little rusty). One is the infamous Toussaint tango, responsible for many a varied instance of sudden breakups and the other is a near militant type of dance, the paso doble (the one which Geralt thankfully knows) and infused with so much tension and passion when done correctly. 

From his days at various parties, while he toured Toussaint, Jaskier knew that it’d be best if they did the paso doble and maybe mix in a couple of tango moves along the way, a little lift here, a drag there. Geralt did after all look stern and ‘soldiery’ enough to hold his own in a paso and it would be too time-consuming to have a refresher crash course in tango for the Witcher

“Maestro, again, please!” Jaskier called as he signalled for Geralt to return to their starting position.

The band struck up the tune to a paso doble once more and Jaskier eyed the Witcher who stood on the other side of the room. Perhaps his expertise in this dance was more of a hindrance than ever for each time their bodies came into contact Jaskier’s filthy little brain thought only of the night they’d spent together. Each step, each touch, each flick of his head, it felt so much like a reminder of their night of passion and Jaskier is hungry for more. 

_‘So far so good,’_ the Witcher thought as he counted the steps in his head, remembering to keep his back straight as they strut forward together, meeting in the center. He takes Jaskier’s hand, eyes fixed on blue-grey ones as they moved in tandem about the expanse of the ballroom. Chest to thigh, their bodies were pressed up against each other and the moves were ever so sensual. Geralt especially loved the portions where he got to _drag_ Jaskier up against his body and hear that little hitch in his breath and the way his eyes darken as he leans in close before pushing off from Geralt’s chest. 

Jaskier feels the heady blend of passion and sexual tension rising in the room. The bard is utterly amazed at how quick a learner Geralt is with the drags. They’d been practicing since this morning, taking a break only for lunch before it was back to the dance floor. It’s inevitable really what with their confessions, and last night’s events. The next time they come together, meeting in the center of the room, they’re both breathing hard and harder still is what’s between their bodies as Geralt draws them together. Jaskier gasps softly at the way Geralt’s fingers dug into his thigh, gripping his leg tightly. He flicks his tongue out licking his lips which he purses together as a shudder courses up his body when Geralt purposefully _smooths_ his hand down Jaskier’s thigh when releasing him. 

Jaskier holds up a hand and the band stops mid-song.

“We’re done here,” Jaskier tells them and the band immediately heave a sigh of relief as they hurriedly start to pack, no doubt exhausted from having to play the same tune the entire day, “This can continue tomorrow.”

Geralt raises a brow at the bard and catching the slight flush in his cheeks, the Witcher smirks. He knew what came after the band left. 

In a tumble of roving hands and hungry open-mouthed kisses, full of tongues and lewd sloppy noises, Geralt and Jaskier end up on the floor of the ballroom. Jaskier eagerly toes off his shoes as he works on the corset. But the gruff growl of the Witcher is enough to stop him. “On your knees, now,” Geralt commands and Jaskier immediately obliges as he gets onto his knees, eagerly spreading his legs and bracing himself on his elbow. Sucking on his fingers, Jaskier gets them nice and wet before he fumbles with his skirts, lifting them just enough to sink his slick digits into his still sensitive hole. Cheeks flushed, the bard looks over one shoulder at the Witcher, fingers gently massaging in and out as Jaskier slowly fucks himself open, preparing his body for Geralt. He hears Geralt fumbling with the belt and then the shuffling of fabric. 

Geralt eagerly lifts the bard’s skirts, pushing it up and bunching it about Jaskier’s hips as he watches the bard’s fingers thrust into the tight ring of muscle. Geralt smooths a hand over the curve of Jaskier’s pale bottom and smacks him hard, squeezing the bard’s flesh and making him moan and then bite his lips as he watched Geralt pull his shaft from his pants. Grabbing the bard’s wrist he draws Jaskier’s fingers out, teasing him instead as he works his hips rubbing his cock against the cleft of his arse. Jaskier moans wantonly backing up against Geralt and silently pleading him for more. This time Geralt, relents and wastes no time as he spits upon his hand, slathers cock with his saliva and sinks into Jaskier’s tightness, becoming one with the bard once more.

“Oh~” Jaskier cries out as he blindly fumbles about behind him, fingers digging into Geralt’s thigh and urging the Witcher closer even as he shimmied back down upon the Witcher’s shaft, “Fuck me…yes…that’s…so good,” he groans working his hips slowly around and around and feeling Geralt’s cock massaging up against his walls. To think they were doing this sober is utterly incredible for every nerve in Jaskier’s body is alive and jumping with little sparks. 

Geralt moves his hips now as he covers Jaskier’s body with his own, cradling the bard’s smaller frame in his arms. His hands fumble with the ties on Jaskier’s dress, pulling away at the stomacher and the fabric, wanting, needing to feel Jaskier’s skin. He kisses the bard’s neck feeling Jaskier shudder as his breathing gets all stuttery and his moans increase in pitch and volume. Geralt doesn’t care if the entire estate hears them. 

Jaskier rocks back against the Witcher, angling his head more so that Geralt can get at his neck. His skin prickles with goosebumps as Geralt licks and sucks against the sensitive skin on his neck, sometimes even going so far as to bite him, teeth worrying his flesh. Slowly the momentum of their rutting begins to build and Jaskier presses his forehead to the cool floor his breath fogging up the marble tiles each time as Geralt fucks into him, in strong, hard strokes.

“You. Feel. So. Good!” the Witcher growls slamming back into Jaskier each time as though to emphasise his words. 

Jaskier whimpers mewling as he feels Geralt’s hand curl about his cock, thumb sitting snugly against his dripping slit, “Geralt!” he whines as he tries to prise the Witcher’s hand off his cock, “Oh please…please…” he begs feeling his heart thundering in his chest and that all-familiar flutter deep in his belly. 

“Not just yet,” Geralt husks as his lips seek out Jaskier’s tongue slipping between those soft, rose petal red lips. Geralt begins to build his rhythm again, slow, long thrusts soon become quick fast strokes. Jaskier whines into the kiss crying, begging and Geralt can feel the inferno growing deep inside him, feel the way his hips begin to stutter. Breaking their kiss, Geralt leans his weight against the bard, pinning Jaskier to the ground with his weight as he fucks into him. He knows he’s near when he feels his balls draw up against him. One little squeeze from Jaskier as the bard clamps his walls down on his cock is enough to push the Witcher right over the goddamn edge.

Jaskier needs to cum and Geralt’s being a prick keeping him on edge like this! When they break away from their kiss, Jaskier breaks out his stunning vocals as he whines and moans while being stretched open by Geralt’s thick cock. Jaskier pulls his trump card when Geralt’s buried balls deep inside him, he clenches his muscles squeezing Geralt’s shaft inside him and the Witcher comes undone.

“Fuck,” Geralt groans as he shudders, pulling out and pushing back in again one final time as the hours of his pent up frustrations broke free and the Witcher spilled his seed inside the bard. 

Jaskier too feels the white-hot blaze of his climax as Geralt releases his hold upon his shaft and he shudders as his cock dripped with cum, twitching and staining the pristine marble floor of the ballroom. He feels Geralt milking his cock, the Witcher’s large hand languidly stroking and tugging on his sensitive prick and milking every last drop from him. Satisfied and breathing hard he twists about and pushes Geralt down against the floor of the ballroom. He studies the Witcher’s dark amber-ringed eyes and grins, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Geralt…Geralt…Geralt,” he manages as sighs contentedly, shaking his head in mock disapproval and smiling down at the Witcher. 

“What? You made eyes at me while we danced,” Geralt retorted as he reached up to push the bard’s wig off, carding his hand through Jaskier’s dampened brunet locks, “Much better,” he hums noting the way Jaskier’s cheeks colour.

“Oh I’m not sorry,” Jaskier mutters as he settles down against the Witcher’s side, loving the way Geralt’s fingers gently comb through his hair.

“Mmm neither am I,” came the husky reply from somewhere above him as Jaskier felt the Witcher’s lips grace his forehead with a kiss. 

**xXx**

Somehow they must’ve fallen asleep from their vigorous activities for when Jaskier awakens he can hear the chirping of the crickets and the silvery light of the moon spills through the glass doors and open curtains. Sitting up, Jaskier watches Geralt sleeping beside him his chest rising and falling steadily. Taking off his heavy skirts, Jaskier lays it over the Witcher as a sort of blanket as he rights his clothes, the light chemise and Geralt’s doublet should suffice for now. He isn’t going to be that far off anyway. Tiptoeing in his stockings over to the double doors, Jaskier turns the lock and steps out onto the balcony basking in the cool, fresh, night air. 

He breathes in deeply, stretching with his arms lifted right over his head as he walks along the length of the balcony. Finally he settles against the balustrade, letting out a contented sigh and looking out over the gardens.  
  
“Jaskier…” came the Witcher’s voice from behind him, all husky. 

“Geralt, twice in one day?” Jaskier teases as he turns around to find the Witcher standing there all smart and pristine looking and rather serious too, “Oh, Sorry I…didn’t mean to wake you…” he says trailing off as Geralt closed the distance between them in long strides. 

The medallion started to hum against his chest and Jaskier feels his blood run cold.

“Is something the matter, love?” 

_‘Something’s wrong…he never calls me ‘love’…and it’s not that I don’t want him to but…it’s just…not him?’_

Jaskier laughed nervously, shaking his head, “Oh nothing it’s just that I thought I left you fast asleep,” he said backing up against the stone-cold balustrade that dug into his back as Geralt advanced upon him. 

“I just thought I’d come and check on you. Perhaps we can continue where we left off in the garden this morning when the sorceress so rudely interrupted us.” 

“Oh no, no more of that for now. But as you can see I’m fine,” Jaskier says as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Indeed,” Geralt purrs and then he signs Axii in the air.

Almost immediately Jaskier’s eyes glaze over as his entire form relaxes against the balustrade. 

“Listen closely and listen well, Jaskier, I have a job for you,” Geralt began, “First, you will forget that we ever met tonight. Next, you will target the Vegelbud’s daughter at the masquerade ball tonight. I don’t know how you do it, but I want you to corner her and then take her out exactly as the killer would, you know how don’t you?”

Jaskier nods. 

“Once you’re done I’ll find you again and give you your next assignment. Do you understand me?” 

Jaskier nods again obediently, “I understand.” 

“Good,” Geralt purrs as he smirks, “Remember in all that you do, you must be yourself we don’t want anyone to find out about our little secret do we?”

“No. We don’t.” 

“Now, go, back to sleep.” 

Without another word, Jaskier curls up on the floor of the balcony eyelids already starting to droop as sleep sinks into his bones. The last thing he sees is Geralt’s face rippling and morphing as sleep washes over the bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: How many of you saw that coming? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll try to write again soon. May all of you take care of yourself and your family!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed it. Feel free to leave me comments and likes and maybe suggestions for whatever else you'd like to see!


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